


Bulletproof

by regsregis



Series: Breaking your habits [2]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gore-y stuff watch out kiddos, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mending Relationship, Pre-Relationship, Rhys is still a dork but finally grows a badass pair, The Taming of the Shrew, slow slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-24 02:03:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9694934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regsregis/pseuds/regsregis
Summary: Rhys thinks he's old and experienced enough to deal with Jack again and so he brings him back. Jack finds it hard to believe that it's as innocent as it sounds and maybe just maybe he's right.





	1. The long haul

**Author's Note:**

> My absolute favourite trope is having the Raging-Asshole™ eventually tamed. Be it through violence and harsh training or gentle treatment and trust. We'll have both of those methods worked into the story.  
> However, unlike other stories I've written I'll do my best to avoid any possible abuse of trust/power because I need this story to mend my soft, marshmallow heart.  
> tags will also be added later on as we figure out where the story goes.  
> More news @ visn0mer.tumblr.com

Cold wind tugs at the hem of a skag-leather coat, messing with the strands of dark hair before chrome plated cybernetic fingers push through them, a futile attempt to bring some sort of order. The lone figure, tall shape outlined by the flickering lights of a run down facility, exhales an exasperated sigh and shifts the attention to an unyielding, harsh landscape of Pandoran wasteland. From up here, it looks like nothing has changed, a barren land ravaged by severe weather conditions but this couldn’t be much farther from the truth. A decision is being weighed here, one that will bring peace to one mind but possibly wear down on countless others. Which one it will be, only time will show, and with mind finally made, the figure sets his jaw, shoulders squared, and turns to head back into the safety of the labs.

A single, unlabeled drive has been stored securely in a double-bottomed drawer of a large desk and for years, it has been left uninterrupted but it’s time to wake the devil from his slumber, the count down on the proverbial bomb reaching single digits. Deft hands trigger the hidden mechanism, the drive is now transferred to the breast pocket of the leather coat and taken in long strides to the far end of the facility where a couple of stark white lab coats are bustling about a body laid out on a slab. A nod is exchanged and the drive is carefully inserted into a dormant data hub, twisted strings of wires outstretching all the way to the slab. 

Everybody holds their breaths.

-II-

What wakes him up is a dull ache at the back of his skull.  
-He has a skull. And it hurts.-  
The previous ruckus has boiled down to a single man, restlessly napping on an uncomfortable hospital chair and the room is quiet sans for the soft peep of life-monitoring systems.  
-His life.-  
He cracks one eye open, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings but what sets his alarms off is this unnerving stillness of his body.  
-But it’s his eye and his body and it’s real and tangible and the feedback keeps looping with more ‘ands’ as sensations begin building up.-  
Trying to clear his throat brings only an unpleasant sensation of straining muscles but none of that satisfying scratch of a cough to ease the clogging in his throat. He figures he must be strapped to the bed since no amount of wiggling seems to be having any effect aside from the peeping spiking up. Which in return alarms the dozing figure in the back of the room, head jerking up, an unfamiliar face blanking out to a familiar look of ‘oh shit i think i’ve just crapped my pants’. At least that is satisfactory.

“Hey, asshole…” His voice is hoarse and so, so annoyingly weak, that his face pulls into a scowl. “...mind explaining any of this?”

-His voice. Not a recording, not a set of data pushing through a voice simulator but real vocal cords, vocal cords which still feel raw, as if they haven’t been used for a long time. Which most probably is true he supposes.-  
The man bolts to his feet, hands scrambling to get a hold of some pager-like device. Ping sent, the, what he can only assume, medic has a look on his face like he wished the ground would open and just swallow him whole.

“Oh come on idiot, gonna just stare at me?” His tone is demanding, hands subconsciously flexing into loose fists. “SAY SOMETHING!”

“I...uhhh… notallowedtotalk…” The guy all but stammers the words, voice tiny, eyes wide and staring straight at him.

He grumbles his displeasure, making a mental note to rip this moron’s tongue out later. Much later. Now he has more pressing matters to attend to.

“At least get your old pal here something to wet his mouth.”

Finally this prompts a reaction from this covering little shit and soon enough a straw is pressed to his lips, the back panel of the bed slightly lifting so he’s half sitting half laying. It’s water and it feels like such a novelty even though it’s stale and warm as his memories tell him, and yet he can’t get enough, taking one greedy sip after another.  
-It feels nice to taste something.-  
Soon enough a flock of white coats pours into the room, all of their attention centered on him as they start fussing about the equipment, taking notes of various data displayed on the dimmed screens. No one however dares to utter a word to him, whispered half-sentences passed between them. He tries threatening them as he flails weakly, stupid restrains effectively keeping him from ripping one too careless throat.  
This annoying torture continues for twelve unnerving shifts of mute medics huddled in the far end of the room, each next looking worse for wear than their predecessor. He figures each shift before the next lab coat with a face of a martyr shows up lasts a few hours, but how many exactly, that remains a mystery.  
-Time exists again. Even though it’s measured in units that do not make sense, but to him, it’s everything.-  
With nothing better to occupy his mind, all that’s left is to sort out his memories and let a seething rage build up.

-“You don’t know what it’s like… there’s nothing there… there’s absolutely NOTHING there…. please...PLEASE!”  
His consciousness flickers, vision going in and out and that burning stare from one eye is fixed on him, last thing keeping him grounded and ‘here’ instead of ‘nowhere’.  
“...I’m sorry. It’s over.” It’s over and he’s nowhere and he’s nothing, drifting without time or space. -

It’s the beginning of the thirteenth shift, this time his company is kept by a middle aged woman, one he has seen a couple of times before, during their routine check-ups. Her eyes are scanning a datapad in front of her but they shoot up instantly as an echo of a louder conversation reaches them. The voices are getting closer and he welcomes the break from monotony, curiosity picked. The conversation dies out but the sound of footsteps finally reach the door leading to his room. As on cue, his current companion, although that’s a rich statement given her quietness, stands up and leaves without (figures) a word, her watch prematurely ended.  
His eyes curiously scan the slit between the door and the doorframe left in the woman’s wake but soon enough more light is let into the room, a tall, familiar figure purposefully striding in. There he is, the source of his misery and suddenly  
-he is something again-  
no longer ‘nothing’ and no longer a pile of flesh and bones strung together and left for the researchers to examine. With ‘something’ comes anger, deeply rooted and making him feel oh-so-alive again.

“My, and here I thought I’d never see your charming face ever again cupcake” His singsong voice is dripping with venom as he watches the other man drag the abandoned chair closer to his bed, the back of it towards him and his guest straddles it, long legs on either side and elbows resting against the backrest. He looks tired, more weathered and on top of that completely unfazed by the snarling. “What, ya lost your tongue like the rest of these morons here? Oh please find it quickly because I’m -dying- to know why would you bring me back.”

“Jack…” The other man’s tone is raw, but beside this, no other particular emotion, positive or negative, can be pinned to it, mismatched eyes remaining unreadable.  
-He has a name.- 

-Jack-

“Did you get your sweet ass into troubles again and came here to beg me for help? This ain’t happening this time, I’m so mad at you the moment these restrains let loose I’m going to fucking strangle…”

“Jack!”

“...or have you taken upon yourself to be Pandora’s avenging angel and ya know, punish me for everything you think I’ve done? In which case I’m also going to strangle you, you dumbass and then I’m going to piss…”

“JACK!” His tirade is finally broken with a loud command barked at him, his brows pulling in confusion as he shoots the other man an incredulous look.

“What?!”

“Just… shut up. One, you are not restrained in any way” A finger is lifted to illustrate the point, second soon joining the first one. “Two, I really, really hoped to have arrived here before you regained most of your motor skills. Like talking for example. And I specifically mention talking because, come on, give me a break and for once listen before you go back to talking my ear off.”

Jack is still hung up on the ‘not restrained’ part once the final words ring out and it must’ve shown on his face because the edge of the sheets covering his body is lifted, a distant feeling of warmth wrapping around his wrist and he can see his arm being lifted easily before the warmth is gone and his hand mostly lifelessly drops back to the bed. Not for the lack of his trying of course but no matter how much he keeps straining his muscles, he can’t spark nothing more than a twitch.

“It’s… it’s gonna take a while for your strength and senses to return in full, I’m just surprised it’s your mouth that has recovered so quickly. Go figures, just my luck, eh?”

He’s processing the information in his brain, a million and more questions springing to his mind and fighting for priority. Finally, he looks back from his hand to the dark clad figure sat by his bed.

“Rhys...how long has it been?” He means the time since he awoke but the answer he gets is so much more valuable.

“Well over eight years.” The response that comes is said in a quiet, even voice.  
-The time can now be measured and assessed. Eight years is a long time but it doesn’t feel like it, not to him at least.-  
The man whose head he used to occupy holds his gaze, unflinching, as Jack’s eyes flick to him, taking in the changes he hasn’t bothered to pay attention to previously. Yeah, he can totally believe it has been this long, taking in Rhys’ appearance he can notice some wear and tear here and there, hair just a little bit longer and definitely less neat and coiffed, two loose strands dangling over his forehead, thin lines etched into the skin around the corners of his eyes and lips which in turn are pulled into a thin line. His once bright blue eye is now yellow and the missing arm replaced by a new, chrome one. For now however, his attention shifts back to the conversation at hand.  
Okay, now’s the time for the most important question and Jack dreads what lies will roll of Rhys’ tongue. He squares his shoulders and fluffs his chest as best as he can with his limited strength and shoots the most hateful look he can muster.

“And why? What do you need me for?”

The answer that comes is everything Jack didn’t expect but what surprises him most is the other man’s body language. What he mostly expected were unconvincing sorrys followed by some cowering or maybe boastful claims and a metaphorical collar and leash slipped around his throat, perhaps a carrot and stick. But what he gets is a sudden shift to Rhys’ posture, the man straightens up, air of confidence surrounding him out of nowhere and the most open, honest look on his face. Man, he wants to wipe it off of his face, it’s grating on his frail nerves so much.

“Nothing… I figured I owed you that.” Despite the pause there is no hesitance or vulnerability in his voice. Damn well he owed Jack that much for turning his back on him! Before more confused questions can spill from his mouth, his guest is lifting himself up and of the chair, impossibly tall when he leans over Jack’s bed. “I also figure you will want to postpone this conversation until you are up and about and actually have your hands around my neck to strangle the answers out of me, right?”

This, in all fairness, is absolutely outrageous because that’s exactly what Jack wants to do. And it completely unnerves him to have someone one step ahead of him like that.

“Oh I’ll have them around your neck soon enough don’t you fucking worry!” He growls and snaps his teeth at the taller man.

-Rhys-

Before he leaves the room, a comm is dropped on a nightstand, just to the left from Jack.

“Call me whenever you feel like having some company, I’ll do my best to answer. You’re not a prisoner but I’d suggest you take the time to rest and not do anything stupid. The medical staff is here for you but try not to make their lives a living hell.”

And with that, he’s marching out of the door. All in all he considers this short meeting a success. Hopefully he got his message across and established his position while at the same time made sure Jack would stay put for now.


	2. To win the honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter still doesn't explain what Rhys has been up to this whole time but that's what we gonna learn in the next chapter. So far, let's see how mister legs for days handles his postiion at the top of the food chain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to make the best of my winter break to get as many chapters out there as I can. It'

-Rhys-

There are no established tracks or routes leading to this desolated place and for miles Rhys’ car is the only moving object on the horizon as he heads back home. With nothing else to occupy his thoughts, he goes over his decision for the n-th time. Bringing back Jack may not turn out to be his greatest decision but then again, he has spent last eight years figuring out how he will deal with the devil incarnate, careful plans laid out and set in motion since the get go. Rhys likes to think he ironically has done it for Pandora’s good but also because he really did feel like he owed Jack this favour.   
-But did you really?-  
A very small, weak voice huddled deep under all his confidence and calmness mocks him.   
-You’re just a horrible, pathetic sucker for praise, ain’t ya? To the point that you are willing to endanger everything you have worked so hard for, just to have -him- pet you on the head before you end up with a broken neck and it will be Hyperion under Handsome Jack’s control over again.-   
Well, there’s also that, the most likely outcome but he shoves this annoying and faintly familiar voice even deeper, jaws set and fingers tightening on the steering wheel. Just a couple more hours of keeping his composure and he’ll be back at his place, falling to pieces and venting his frustration. Yeah, that sounds right, and with that, he squares his shoulders, low buildings starting to pop up here and there around his car as he drives through the city’s suburbs, finally switching online position tracker and communication.

“...I see you’re back dude. Had a good trip?” Vaughn’s voice pushing through the static before it establishes itself strong makes Rhys both relieved and even more anxious at the same time.

“Yeah, headed back for my office now. Meet me there in ten?” He owes Vaughn an update on the whole Jack situation, what with his friend begrudgingly backing him up since the beginning.

-II-

Sat on his large swivel chair, Rhys is observing the meeting like a hawk from under lowered lashes, one cheek resting atop his loosely curled fist. He had Yvette and his own PA call in the board members, all of them now restlessly perched on those particularly uncomfortable conference chairs, knuckles white and various shades of fear and concern on their faces as they watch live feed from a remote facility. The man on the video seems to be asleep but definitely alive, sharp features pulled into a more relaxed state and chest slowly rising and falling. Hard not to recognize the face that for years has been plastered over every square centimeter of Pandora and orbiting it station and moon. The seemingly calm atmosphere emanating from the video is a sharp contrast to the nervous, borderline panicky air surrounding Atlas’ board members.

“S-sir… is this… wise?” One of them dares to speak, hesitant eyes meeting his own unwavering stare. Rhys only quirks one eyebrow and lets his PA speak in his place.

“It is. This man is extremely valuable, by bringing him back we’ll be able to safely take the next step and make more space for us on the market.”

“B-but isn’t it dangerous? Do we really need him? We’ve got so far without him.” The same man speaks up again and with a sigh Rhys for the uptenth time wishes he actually -was- Handsome Jack so he could like… uhh… airlock this guy or something. But fortunately, he -isn’t- Handsome Jack, else he wouldn’t be where he is, making his own decision and standing for himself. Finally, he speaks, voice calm but tinged with something hard and cold.  
“Perhaps we don’t. Perhaps we do. Making sure he behaves himself... that’s on me. You people stick to your job and keep your eyes on the ball. Understood?” They hastily nod and eventually scatter as Rhys waves his hand, the meeting clearly dismissed.

Once the room is cleared, the only remaining person slithers closer, finally perching herself at the edge of the table right in front of Rhys.

“You are awfully good at that Rhys. Had I not known since your nerd years I would have fallen for this dark and brooding alpha male act.”

He can practically hear Yvette poking his tongue at him. Keeping his act together, he huffs again, massaging his temple for a while and finally with a stern expression he slowly drags his eyes up her body. Long legs dressed in black tights, her knees dangerously closely to his sitting figure and as his gaze flickers to the edge of her pencil skirt, Yvette slowly swaps her crossed legs, left now moving to sit on top of the right one. The muscles of his jaw bulge as he grinds his teeth, eyes finally finishing their sweep and meeting with hers. Two hungry stares meet each other and Rhys runs the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, seconds passing until he’s finally on the move.

“All right, all right…” he finally drops his act, eyes softening with a hardly contained dorky smile “... no need to butter me up, lunch is on me.”

Yvette lets out a triumphant shout and is already trotting towards the door, Rhys taking long strides to keep up with her.

“Man, you can be a real sexy beast when you want, you know it Rhys?” She chuckles, winking at him as they head for the cafeteria.  
He laughs in response elbowing her slightly

“Heh, you know well that’s not me.” They both know that she knows. Yvette and Vaughn have witnessed Rhys’ failed attempts at flirting more times than they all want to remember. Not that now, with his current position people aren’t nearly queueing up to hop onto their CEO. He sighs. Okay so that may be a little bit of an overstatement, there might have been a couple of occasions where he hooked up with someone but he mostly uses that made-up charm of his to get his way with people, hardly interested in any serious follow ups.

-II-

The day is over and Rhys is finally back at home toeing off his shoes and throwing himself face down onto his bed. After a couple of minutes the quietness is broken by a sharp ping of his communicator and with an exasperated sigh, he pushes ‘answer’, voice feed directly streamed into his ear.

“Hi Rhysie, missed me~?”

Ah. Jack. So much for some R&R.

“Not since our last meeting, no.” The implication… it may or may not be there, left for Jack’s interpretation.

“Aww, you could’ve at least muster something nice and caring, I’ve oh-so patiently waited a couple of days before I’ve decided to grace you with the sound of my voice!” That’s certainly unusually but Rhys guesses that the medical staff has managed to follow his instructions to simply run Jack down with physical therapy and countless medical exams day by day just so that by night time he would instantaneously pass out keeping everyone out of trouble.

“So ….mmmm…. how are you feeling?” He tries to sound concerned but his tone turns out flat.

“Better. Punched someone today. Sadly, didn’t knock anyone’s teeth out but it sure as hell made me feel better. They finally let me ditch this goddamn stupid ass wheelchair but I really could use some light entertainment since you are keeping me locked out of the echo-net. Mind slipping your best buddy a couple of top-shelf mags?” Rhys tunes out a good half of this word vomit, concentrating instead on the timbre of Jack’s voice. It takes him years back and stirs mixed feelings. Some good old fashioned gut-clenching fear and the soothing certainty that used to come with relying on Jack and coming out victorious. Anyways, he doesn’t really need to hear what has happened because he receives daily reports from the staff stationed with Jack which he usually thumbs through by the end of the day. But then again, he doesn’t really mind enough to stop him.

Absent-mindedly Rhys transfers a load of generic porn magazines to Jack, the corner of his mouth twitching up slightly at the excited response.

“You’d totally be my favourite cupcake if I didn’t want to pop your eyeballs so badly.” That means fondness when translated from Jack to human and Rhys only chuckles at that.

“Now, before I get to exploring all this delicious content, mind telling me how on earth you became the CEO of ATLAS of all things? See, one of your people here spilled his beans.” Jack sound triumphant and it makes Rhys cringe internally. He wanted to pass the news himself and watch changing expressions on his ex-boss’s face. Well what’s done is done and he can’t do much but roll with it.  
“I might have taken the rights to Atlas from your old office after Helios came crashing down. We’ve overtaken what was left of Hyperion if you need to know.” A familiar, near maniacal laughter makes his comm crack with static and Rhys winces at a painful memory trying to push to the fore of his attention.

“That’s rich boy, thinking you could take over MY empire and what… try to imitate ME?” Jack’s voice is malicious and he apparently tries to cut deep but it leaves Rhys unfazed, angry words giving him the leverage to regain his control.

“My Atlas is everything Hyperion needed to be but failed to achieve. Your -empire- is now nothing more but a bad taste in people’s mouth. As is the memory of you.” There is silence on the other end of the comm, Jack possibly hyperventilating. Old Rhys would have never dared to throw this into Jack’s face but New Rhys isn’t afraid anymore. He’s had this malicious AI stuck in his brain for so long he’s got him figured out about as well as Jack has worked out what makes his meat-bag partner tick. Or more likely, tick and explode, the other man taking great pleasure in driving Rhys mad with his constant chatter. Except it’s been years and Rhys has matured and learned not to take any shit life throws at him but Jack... he doesn’t know that yet. He knows his next words will baffle the other man and that’s exactly what he’s aiming for. “Jack… it doesn’t have to be like that, though.” 

The conversation is over, this topic left for some other occasion perhaps when they’ll get to talk face to face.

-II-

Their broken off conversation doesn’t stop Jack from calling again the next evening. And the next. The other man seemingly tries to keep their calls light, steering away from unpleasant topics and they stick to the old routine of half hearted jabs at each other, Rhys unapologetically biting back whenever Jack swaps from telling him about his day to throwing some rude remarks. Their talks are used as a way to ease back into having each other around because soon,Rhys’s gonna have an armful of troubles he brought down onto himself with his own two hands. A nearly 24/7, exclusive, Handsome Jack experience and Jack is going to do everything in his might to make it truly unforgettable. Maybe even unforgivable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to make the best of my winter break to get as many chapters out there as I can. It'


	3. Rear-view mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The part where you fall to your knees

-Jack-

He’s comfortably sprawled in the back seat of Rhys’ car, both of them cutting through Pandoran wasteland and an uneasy silence hangs in the air. Jack catches a brief mismatched stare reflected in the mirror and he shoots a nasty grin.

“Im fucking hoping you’re gonna treat me to a date night at a nice, luxurious restaurant honeysuckle ‘cause I could kill for some quality food. Hospital meals are far from the top of my list of favourites.” His words are punctuated with a low growl coming from his stomach.

“You’ll eat once we get back you utter twat.” Despite the underlying threat in Rhys’ voice, some more nagging and prodding earns him a pack of peanuts angrily chucked at his face. Jack relaxes back into his seat, popping the package open and then showing a fistful of treats into his mouth. God but they’re good, he really missed the texture of anything that wasn’t a blended hospital pulp. Speaking of hospitals… he closes his eyes replaying the events of the last hour or so.

-II-

He’d been feeling a lot better those days, the medical staff treating him in an acceptable manner, polite, distanced and hell bent on not stepping on his toe. Which was also unacceptable because he couldn’t hang on anything to vent his pent up frustration. Stiff and ever cordial Cathy, jittery Johnny and brusque no-name were the ones Jack would see and interact with the most often. Mr. no-name would roughly but with no underlying maliciousness jerk him awake in the morning, helping him get dressed and then putting through pure torture of stretching his muscles and then actual -exercises-. Once he was back on his feet it was countless miles on a treadmill and excruciating hours of tugging at a stretch of hard rubber. Then it was time for little Johnny, the man was surprisingly professional and decisive every time he had Jack stripped to his boxers, warm hands running over sore muscles to knead away any tenderness. But then he would turn into a mumbling mess for the latter half of their time spent together. It might had had something to do with that one time Jack jammed a pen into his open palm. Precision training was absolutely the best because he could chuck small rubber balls at Johnny’s head without repercussions and call it rehabilitation. During what he assumed was late evening, Cathy would show up, full of yes sirs and no sirs. She would jot down whatever important numbers were displayed on surrounding monitors and then drag Jack through long ass conversations, asking surprisingly detailed and personal questions from his past. He didn’t like that part and quietly plotted murder as he kept meeting her inquiries with ever more profound answers, double pissed when she kept remaining unfazed. After his fifth late night talk with his current nemesis they announced he’ll soon be released which made Jack misbehave the next day so badly the staff had to give him a shot of sedatives.  
On the day of his sweet sweet release Jack was a bouncy ball of happiness and excitement and after having tried to fork out one of the nurse’s eyes they took away his food before he was done and no amount of cursing and wailing got him fed. Which had him wondering as to their boldness until he’d heard Rhys’ commanding voice and footsteps heading for his room. Ah, that’s why little shits weren’t afraid of him, thought their big bad CEO would protect them from Jack’s wrath. Oh he was going to flip them off so -so- bad on his way out.

“Heard you were asking for troubles” And there he was, lanky figure leaning against the doorframe with a smug crack of his lips. “Want to be put in a time out?” Jack only growled in response, last fixes made to have him look presentable in his new clothes. Nothing as comforting as the multiple layers he used to wear but that would have to do for now, a simple shirt underneath a sweater with Atlas’ log and loose pants with a pair of sneakers.

“That’s kinda offensive ya’know” his hand smoothed over the logo etched into the material on his chest “For real Rhysie? Slapping I O U all over me?”

“You’re reading too much into it.” The other man grumbled, turning on his heel and heading back down the corridor, not waiting to see if Jack would follow. Which he did regardless, not like he would turn a chance to get the fuck out of here down anyway.

Rhys collected a hefty cardbox, filled with data pads and smaller containers a few mumbled instructions from the head of this tiny departament and they were heading back out, Jack hot on the other man’s heels. Rhys drove an expensive looking car, nothing Jack had seen before and so, just in case, he said something extremely offensive just to hide that he was impressed.

They drove off in silence until Rhys pulled up, venturing slightly off road, car parked at the top of a cliff overlooking the valley where the medical facility laid obscured by the shadows. He stood in silence until Jack joined him, quizzical looks shot his way as a small device with a security lock and a single button was passed to him.  
The tall brunette turned his back towards the barely-there lights of an Atlas facility and a flicker of fire illuminated his face as he lit a cigarette.

“Didn’t peg you for a smoking type pumpkin”

“... ‘m not one… get over with this and be done.” He has clearly been indicating the device in Jack’s hand and so he obediently turned his eyes back towards the distant building and after flicking the safety off he finally pushed the button.  
An echo of a far-off explosion tore the silence around them and a tremor soon followed as a gaping hole swallowed the hospital they had left mere minutes ago.

“Damn, that’s cold Rhysie…” Wow, the kid was full of surprises Jack had to admit. He felt the warmth of satisfaction spreading in his belly, revenge and destruction definitely lightening his mood.

“Spare me.” Came a snapped response “I’ll beat myself over it once we’re outta this place.” A cigarette butt got carelessly thrown to the ground and then stomped over as the other man headed back towards the car and quietly waited for Jack to be done gloating.

The car slowly accelerated before driving off, none of that bullshit tires screeching Jack sort of expected and he had to give it to him, the kid’s grown to be unnervingly calm in situations that used to have him deeply shocked and rendered speechless. When he caught his eyes in the rear-view mirror they were slightly reddened and puffy but behind that, unyielding steel hid.

-II-

Which finally brings us to the ‘here and now’, crumbles falling from where they have pooled in the crease of Jack’s sweater as he stretches from his brief nap. Something in the distance, something that should definitely not -be- there catches his attention. The dull line of the horizon is broken by something massive and they are headed straight for it.

“Is that…?”

“Ahh...welcome to Pandora’s second largest city North of the Dead Sand… Nightshade, and my personal fav.” Rhys seems to have stopped sulking and graces his co-passenger with a toothy grin. The view is indeed impressive, a giant structure of soaring towers, tinted gold in the rising sun while the lower half of the structure is covered by a transparent dome. Glass, metal and specks of green make for a truly breathtaking impression.  
As they arrive at the gates, they smoothly slide to let them in and Jack cannot unglue his face from the window, taking in the wonders of the place, a small park here or a larger building with Atlas’ logo there, all scattered amongst little settlements. As they progress through the city, the buildings grow taller and more impressive. Eventually he rolls the window down taking in a deep breath which is nothing like he has ever experienced here on Pandora, nothing he even imagined could be possible down on this shit hole. The air is fresh, traces of humidity clinging to it and it leaves a sort of an aftertaste of vibrant vegetation popping between the sleek constructions. The sun is halfway through on its way to the zenith when they finally arrive before a non-described building and Rhys takes them to the front door, his abandoned car obediently turning on autopilot to head back towards what he assumes is a garage. The building they enter is a multi storey behemoth and Jack can bet his sweet ass on it being the tallest in the whole complex. A lift takes them to one of the highest floors where Rhys swipes a key card and scans his thumb before they are let in into a large apartment. It’s mostly empty, a gigantic living room with an open kitchen and four doors leading deeper into the place. However, besides the bare minimum, there is nothing much, no personal accessories, no photos, everything looking like a stock photo or a shop exhibition.

“Nice place you’ve got yourself here cupcake. It’s just lacking some personal…” A shit eating grin threatens to nearly split his face as he pokes an ornate vase innocently standing at the edge of a drawer. “...touches.” and with that last word he pushes the vase off of the drawer. It shatters into million pieces and Jack gives himself a mental pat on the back, both due to giving his frustration a small outlet as well as hopefully riling up the other man. His eyes narrow to slits as he watches Rhys approach him, broken porcelain crushed under one of his boots until he’s standing dangerously close, staring down the length of his nose.

“Do whatever you want Jack, this is -your- place, not mine.” A nasty smirk dances on Rhys’ lips before he steps back. Wow. Was that a failed attempt at threatening? Cause that didn’t work at -all-. But… wait, did he… did he say this place is Jack’s? It all sounds nice and more or less logical although he was expecting something along the lines of a high security locked down living quarters. That’s what he would choose in Rhys’ place anyway.

“So what do you want from me now? To fall to my knees, crawl on the floor and kiss your boots to show my -fucking- gratitude? You’re playing some nasty game and that’s gonna bite you right on the ass.” He’s positively shaking having worked himself up into a borderline ferocious state, index finger pointed at the unflinching man. “I ain’t nobody’s pet or property! Handsome Jack doesn’t answer to ANYONE!” His last word is nearly yelled as he’s watching Rhys’ arms uncurl from where they have been resting crossed over his chest and a small fragile smile begins to curl his lips.  
“A simple thank you would be nice for a start I guess.” A chuckle rings out and it’s all sunshine and rainbows and it makes Jack see red, ears ringing and fists curled tightly. “...though I wouldn’t say no if you were to get on your knees.” There’s playfulness to Rhys’ voice and that is the last straw as he finally, finally lands that punch he’s been dying to take since the moment he cracked his eyes open, his fist connecting with a strong jaw and making Rhys’ head snap back.

-II-

The punch is weak, something barely enough to make him flinch although it still stings. There is a moment of stillness, all of his muscles pulled taut to counter the incoming force and if Rhys is being honest with himself, which he wishes he wasn’t, it feels good, a welcomed change from the constant, annoying ranting Jack has been doing, his voice occasionally hitting higher notes, as he does what he’s best at. Getting on Rhys’ nerves. But this is also the voice that could easily seep the craziest ideas into his brain, make him work against his better judgement and so he’ll take Jack getting a little bit physical and a whole lotta violent over it any day.


	4. Coming unglued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which BBQ sauce is the pivotal point of this chapter

-Rhys-  


Once the fist disconnects from his jaw, Rhys slowly rolls his head back to it’s previous position to stare at the other man.

“You might wanna wait a little longer before you start throwing punches…” His nostrils flare but aside from this, his composure is unbroken. Which is a total contradiction to a jumble of thoughts frantically swivelling around in his mind. He’s trying. He really is frickin’ trying but it has been just a couple of hours spent in Jack’s presence and he’s already slowly starting to lose it. Would it really hurt to give this unreasonable asshole a good smack on the head? Rhys huffs and with deliberate precision relaxes every straining muscle in his body. Getting into bitch fights with Jack wouldn't do either of them any good.

“I believe I owe you a dinner, don’t I?” No he doesn’t, he promised him nothing but it’s as good of a starting point as any. And with that he’s already halfway towards the door not waiting to hear Jack fall into steps behind him. So yeah, okay, maybe he indeed does deliver some sick, twisted pleasure from having his ex-boss trott behind him like a pup. But yeah, you know… it’s harmless, even if it means getting on Jack’s nerves. A little something to sweeten the deal for Rhys. The lift takes them one floor up, this time Rhys’ apartment. The square metrage is the same as Jack’s but the walls are rearranged to make space for one more room thus leaving the living room considerably smaller. He likes to think his place has that pleasant homely feeling to it, a couple of photos displayed on the walls, some personal touches here and there and a well deserved dose of luxury. After all, he did not work his ass off slaving at Hyperion and later at Atlas for nothing, he was a man made for glory, splendor and money.

“Break something and I will break your arm.” He threatens but in all honestly, there is no real bite behind his bark. It is met with a grumpy grunt. Jack is clearly sulking so to get his spirits up again Rhys passes a slip of paper with the menu of a nearby restaurant, fished out from a stack of fliers piled on a narrow shelf by the door. You may run the most powerful institution on this frickin’ planet and people will still slip leaflets into your doorframe.  
A display of his mechanical arm is called out and he patiently waits for Jack to scan through the extensive list of meals before finally picking what he wants to eat. After the order is sent, Jack wanders into the depth of his place, curiously peeking here and there while making small quips when something piques his interest. The imminent prospect of food certainly lightened his mood but Rhys knows that below the veneer of calm the other man is positively thrumming with unspoken questions and pent up frustration.  
Soon enough a doorbell chimes and it doesn’t take long before the food arrives on their plates, transferred from their original packages, and Rhys adds empty plastic containers to a pile built from similar items growing in the far end of his kitchen. Finally he sinks his teeth into a heavenly greasy burger, some tension of a busy night easing from his shoulders. It’s good good so good but then he makes the mistake of shifting his attention to the man sat across the table. Jack is wolfing down his meal, a thin line of sauce dripping from the corner of his mouth, down to his pronounced chin and then to the table. Okay. So that’s fairly normal. But Rhys’ brain is screaming ‘Abort! Abort!’ because that is so not normal he momentarily forgets about his burger. He likes to think he knows Jack quite well, he can easily read his expression, easier now that the man isn’t donning a mask. After all, they have spent quite some time stuck together and it was hella hard to not let some things slip, even those most tightly protected secrets aren’t safe when you’re sharing single headspace. But in all their time together Jack was mostly a disembodied voice or a translucent hologram. Hair and clothes always perfect, never human, never tangible and never ever with a splash of sauce marring his features. So, he concludes, Handsome Jack is a messy eater primo. And that’s something that has never crossed Rhys’ mind. That you know… Handsome Jack actually eats, at least normal human food instead of the souls of the innocent that is. And secundo, that he’s a real, human being. Just like anybody else and it feels like a punch to the guts, he no longer is that larger than life hero whose face has been sculpted from hard marble, adorning every nook and crook of Helios, at some time particularly concentrated around the vicinity of Rhys’ desk. Ergo he shits too. He wants to tear at his hair, thoughts spiraling out of control but he’s rendered completely motionless, statuesque with his mouth hanging slightly open and eyes fixed on the other man. Which in return finally catches Jack’s attention as his own mismatched eyes meet a pair of wide brown and yellow ones.

“Wow there. Take a picture it will last longer.” he runs a napkin across his chin, getting most of the sauce but smearing the rest of it. Rhys’ eyes methodically follow the movement. “And just what thoughts might be brewing in that fuzzy noggin’ of yours, eh princess?”

“You…” this is the first time hesitation colours Rhys’ words “... ehm… you, going for number two.” Wow that’s something. Honesty isn’t always the best solution but he may just as well roll with this. He has been having those ‘just roll with it’ moments way too often since Jack came back.

“You certainly are -something special- pumpkin, sheesh keep your kinks under wraps, will ya? Anyways, gonna finish that or…?” Jack is already reaching for the abandoned sandwich but when his food is at stake, it’s enough to bring Rhys back to his senses and he snatches the burger before grabby hands can make an attempt at stealing it.

Hunger satisfied, they move to the living room, Jack sprawled on a large comfy sofa, and Rhys, right after dropping a bottle of beer in front of the other man, sits his ass on his favourite armchair, finally stretching his legs and nursing his own beer. He has had a hell of a night, with his drive to pick Jack up and then back, with a rollercoaster of emotions, explosions and an uneasy conversation still ahead of him.  
He has played how it will go in his head over and over again, words etched into his memory and so he steels himself, straightening slightly and shifting his eyes to the other man.

“I did not lie when I told you I felt like I owed you a second chance. You… weren’t so bad, at least towards me… most of the time. Well, what I’m trying to say is that you helped me, a lot. And I trusted you. I would have done nearly anything for you. And by nearly anything I mean everything aside from throwing my own life away to humor you. My self preservation instincts were a little stronger than my hero worship, ya know?”

“For the record, I still don’t understand how you could not be down with my idea of ruling Hyperion together.” He sounds offended and Rhys -feels- offended.

“I don’t understand how you could have thought I’d be down with having a metal crammed into my body and being turned into a puppet. Jack you went totally one eighty on me. You betrayed me.”

“Wow, wow WOW!” Three ‘wow’s are a little bit too much for his tired brain, making Rhys scrunch his nose. “Kid. It was -you- who turned his back on -me-!” Jack springs up to his feet, clearly agitated.

“Oh sit your silly ass down.” Rhys barks, but doesn’t make a move to force his threat, nor does he seem particularly fazed by Jack’s outburst. He mostly anticipated it anyway. Only once the other man is finally seated again does he get up himself and starts pacing, finally getting the chance to pour out all the bitterness that has been building up in him since that memorable day.

“Jack you dumb, stupid, absolute and utter asshole. You had the world within the reach of your palm. And you totally fucked up. A word and I would have fetched one of your cloned bodies, because you clearly knew about them you twat, and you’d be sat back in your office, in your idiotic chair, in no time. So why oh why did you go with that moronic idea of yours, huh?”

“Well…” Jack worries his lower lip between his teeth, a solemn expression on his face and that ridiculous dab of sauce still on his chin. “...kid, you wanted to be -me- so, so badly I never questioned you wouldn’t take up on my offer?” His words are tinted with some underlying venom but he remains seated, eyes following Rhys’ nervous pacing.

“I am -so- glad I didn’t.”

“Uh-huh, judging from what I’ve seen you still want to be me, ain’t that true kiddo? You are trying to imitate me until you will become -me-” These words are meant to cut deep and unnerve Rhys but they only achieve the latter, and although the conversation just went south, he takes a deep breath to regain his cool.

“I’ve asked myself this question so many times that by now I know the answer. And it’s ‘no’. I am my own man Jack, nothing like you, or rather, nothing like the image of you you’ve built. Sure I am the way I am because Hyperion made me like that, but I make my own choices and stand by them.” While at first he sounds distressed, Rhys finishes with his back straight and steel in his voice. “And that is why I brought you back. I’ve grown enough to let you in my life again, to trust you again. And to deal with whatever you fancy throwing at me.” Rhys plops back onto the armchair, head tilted back and the heels of his palms dig into his eye sockets to rub at the burn of an all nighter. “You’re awesome man. Even though you still have sauce on you face and I can’t stop thinking about it. Really smart and cunning and someone I would rather have at my side than have to fight against.” He’s spilling his heart by now but he doesn’t mind, he planned that all along. After all, no trust is build without some honesty. “...but don’t be stupid. Please. Just, don’t be fucking stupid again and it will work out, okay?” 

Silence falls once his last words ring out. Rhys doesn’t bother opening his eyes when he hears a shuffle of feet. And then he feels light touch against his exposed throat so eventually dropping his arms to his sides he cracks both eyes open to stare at the figure looming above him.

Jack’s expression is unreadable as his thumb moves to rest against Rhys’ pulse point but then two sharply angled eyebrows pull together when Rhys rolls his head further to the side, a pliant but by no means submissive gesture. He isn’t challenging him to actually do it, nor is he giving up and showing his belly in submission. It’s borderline ‘do whatever you want’ and a desperate ‘I want to trust you’.

“...t’d be so fucking easy… stupid, stupid boy…” Jack curses under his breath, a stronger squeeze given and his hand is gone. He returns to his abandoned bottle and swirls it between his fingers. “Gotta wonder if you’ll keep being so naively trusting after I’ve regained my strength and established some position here, eh? Because I assume you’re not going to keep me locked up here like a pretty birdie in a gilded cage, but you actually want me running something for Atlas. Right kiddo?” Rhys only nods at this statement “Ain’t you worried I’m gonna pull the same shit I pulled on Tassiter to take Hyperion?” A vigorous shake is the only answer he gets. But as Jack falls into his old game of little threats, Rhys goes back to his fully confident self, conversation now going according (more or less) to his plan.  
He cracks a lopsided smirk, and with a wink, aims his finger gun at Jack, pulling the ‘trigger’, recoil jerking his hand.

“And that, handsome, is why I brought you here before you’re fully operational. I’m going to use and abuse the advantage I have over you to convince you that maaaaybe, just maybe, strangulation isn’t the only solution to this situation.” My god, Rhys is so proud of this line he could print it out and frame it. 

-II-

In the meantime Jack is rolling his eyes so hard they nearly snap. It’s definitely time to go and he catches a small yawn escaping Rhys’ lips. He knows the kid well enough to know he’s dead tired. And that grinds his gears mercilessly, he never signed up for getting those small, personal details and he never signed up for giving a single shit about it. Regardless, he finishes off his drink and gets up to his feet, murmuring that ‘he should go because he doesn’t do -other- solutions’.

“Oh, before you leave, get your fingerprints scanned at the terminal by the door, I want you to have access to my place just in case. And by the way, you are welcome here whenever you get lonely or want to drop by in the middle of the night for some strangling session. I’m down for it!” Rhys sounds awfully cheerful and Jack makes double sure to slam the door behind him extra hard. Because how the hell did this little shit know that was exactly what’s popped in his mind? And it wasn’t the lonely thing of course. Yeah. Definitely. He wipes the dried up sauce with the back of his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops, there's an awkward shift of narrative by the end but I didn't want to leave this part for the next chapter which is from Jack's POV. ok cheers kittens thanks for all the encouragement!


	5. No place for promises here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some nasty gore-y stuff going on here and then some more lore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you see I have a raging crush on Yvette? Because I do. Totally, totally do.

-Jack-

He wakes up with a yawn. A blinking pop-up alerts him to one (1) message on his echo-comm and as Jack makes his way to the bathroom, familiar voice breaks the silence.

-Hi … uhhh, Jack. Your place is hooked to echo-net so you can take the time to catch up on everything that has happened since you were … gone, okay? I’ll answer any questions you may have in the evening. Also, we got your apartment outfitted with the basics but you may want to get yourself something extra so there’s a pass-pay on the coffee table…-

With a toothbrush sticking from between his lips Jack tosses a glance into the living room and finally spots a small envelope laid exactly where the voice said.

-... I don’t want you to feel cooped up in one place but I’d rather you didn’t wander into the city just yet. Don’t you want to make your return something special, eh?-

Hell yeah he does.

-Well I may have something really bomb planned so just bear with it for now.-

He can practically hear Rhys flashing that toothy grin of his. All right, he can do that for now. The message ends and he’s left alone, cool tiles against his bare feet. Finally some me-time for Jack, fuck yeah. He splashes some cold water over his face and kicking off his boxers, he strips from a plain T-shirt he’s been wearing so far. Taking stock of his new body, he runs his hands over the definition of his muscles, inspecting every nook and cranny. So far he only caught glimpses, too busy making hospital’s stuff lives miserable and so his eyes slowly glide over the reflection of his handsome (of course) mug and in all honesty, it feels good to have a presentable face again. Not that the mask he used to wear was so bad, but it came with some downsides. He doesn’t recall ordering this particular clone but he suspects it’s still a miracle at least one of them has survived the fall of Helios. But yeah, he certainly recognises his handiwork in this design, eyes dropping to his nether regions. A little extra never hurt. What puzzles him however, and has puzzled him since he’d noticed it first a couple of days ago, is a C shaped scar just below his left pectoral. Guess no resurrection comes without some sacrifices. As he twists and turns to get the best view of his body,something catches his attention. Dimming the bathroom lights exposes a faint bluish glow along his spine. Cybernetics that’s for sure, burried under his skin and keeping him mobile. Somehow, he thought he’d be more....organic, but then again, no science yet has figured out how to upload someone’s conscious into a real brain without all the wires and ports. Atlas or not. That’s fine too, he bets there are some perks to being a cyborg. Though, Rhys could have gone that extra mile and installed rocket launchers into his elbows or something.  
Next thing he notices is that his tattoos are gone. Too bad, should have had them etched into all of the clones. His hair is longer too, framing his face and getting into his eyes, the usual hairstyle unachievable and in all honesty, that’s one piece of familiarity he could really use. Regardless, it’s mostly annoying so after A quick search around the place, he’s triumphantly tying it back with a rubber band.  
Clean, fresh and dressed into brand new (literally brand new, he has to cut off the tags) clothes, Jack flops onto the couch, envelope in his hand as he thumbs through its content. A credit card, a list of nearby services Rhys seems to be recommending and a small packet of pills with a note ‘just in case’. He recognises them from the hospital, or so he thinks, small, white discs as non-describable as it can get.  
Despite someone clearly cleaning up the mess he’d made yesterday, Jack slips on a pair of sneakers, wary of any sharp fragments of the vase that might have been left behind. His eyes slowly drift to a new piece replacing the unfortunate vessel, another flower vase, tall and slender, able to contain a flower or two but nothing more, and made of solid metal, intricate designs snaking up it’s length.  
Flicking on an echopad that was stacked with a couple more necessities, he scrolls through the news, nothing really catching his attention and finally settles on first pampering himself before getting to uncovering the secrets of this new, changed Pandora.  
One coffee in a paper cup and a donut, delivered straight to his door later he’s certainly in a better mood as he lets Mr. Hair-o-Dyenamix fumble about, getting his tools ready.

“You know how I like ‘em kid.” He can see that the guy is barely old enough to faintly remember Handsome Jack’s days of glory but even long after his demise, his handsome face was still plastered all over Pandora. “Just like on the posters.”

“Y-yeah sir.” It’s hilarious how the kid turns a slightly greener shade of nauseous every time he looks at Jack and it brings warm and fuzzy memories.

Letting his eyes fall shut, he relaxes into the chair he’s currently perched on and for the most part he ignores the hairdresser as the guy starts working away at his bangs, carefully shortening and then finally slicking it back to it’s usual curl just over Jack’s forehead. After a while all that’s left is the tied up part at the back of his head and Hair-o-Dyenamix has to cut through the rubber band, individual strands of hair mercilessly tangled and sticking to the rubber. And that’s when it happens, careless fingers brushing against -something- at the nape of his neck and it sends a weak shock of current sparkling through his body. It has him jumping to his feet in an instant.

“The fuck you just did?!”

“S-sir…? No, I … nothing…”

“What was that you blubbering idiot!?” Jack runs his hand across his neck until his fingers finally graze against something metal and round, a dip in the middle… ah. A port. Despite the realization his heart is still hammering in his chest at having someone’s uninvited touch skim over the tender skin, a small electrostatic buildup released into his body. The kid takes a few shaky steps back but Jack already has a pair of scissors clenched in his fist as he stalks his prey.

There’s no fight, just a distressed cry when he plunges the tip of the scissors into the unfortunate hairdresser’s eye socket. Just enough to injure the eye but not the brain and they topple over, the momentum carrying Jack forward. The fall was accompanied by a sick crack and now that he has risen to his full height can he notice the guy’s left arm twisted at a weird angle. His foot comes down with all the force he can muster on the other arm, heel digging into shattered phalanges as the shit stain that has so irresponsibly set off Jack’s anger writhes on the floor, neither of his arms in a condition good enough to try and pry the scissors from his face, small, broken whimpers passing through his parted lips. But he’s not done, oh no, not yet, grabbing blindly at something solid, fingers closing around cool metal and that’s good enough. Dropping to his knees, Jack smashes what turns out to be the new flower vase into the guy’s face, breaking his nose and making it cave in. Blinded by his rage, he doesn’t notice that one of his strikes drives the scissors deeper, damaging brain tissue and soon enough his victim lies lifelessly, jerking only with still incoming hits.  
Finally, Jack huffs, dropping the bloodied vase to the side and moves to sink down with his back against the nearest wall, a massacred corpse sprawled before him. Adrenaline is still pounding in his ears but he catches a soft whizz as a side panel hidden in the corner of the kitchen pulls to a side and a small, disc-shaped robot with ruffled brushes furiously spinning sets off to clean the mess. A R00mb3A, brand and serial number printed on it’s side. Jack lets out a strangled giggle and letting his head loll to a side, eyes shut, he shoves his hand down the front of his trousers. Man, violence always gets him hot and bothered and he hasn’t had that much fun since forever.

Done and neatly tucked back into his trousers, he meticulously wipes his hand on the dead guys shirt, annoyed beeps from the robot following his action.  
“Good luck little guy.” It’s mumbled before he leaves the tiny robot to its impossible task.

-II-

Not really fancying the company of a slowly cooling down corpse, Jack, now sprawled on his bed, lazily keeps kicking his feet in the air as he tries piecing together what has happened during his absence. Apparently there is more cities like this one, raised with Atlas’ mysteriously obtained funds, through hard work and dedication of the locals and sad remains of Helios’ staff. He’s surprised that the local population would fall in line and help eradicate larger bandit’s dwellings, Pandorans hardly known for their love for corporations. It all looks like a dream come true a dream of some poor, naive sod and he actually can pin a name to this particular dreamy moron. There’s a fairly well established communication system so that the cities aren’t isolated enclaves, the nearest one, within the reach in less than an hour is Foxglove. The most industrial one it seems. Down south are actual -resorts-. Artificially built beaches and rich jungles huddled by large inland bodies of water. He has to wonder where from they had to ship all that water since Pandora isn’t known for its particularly well irrigated landscape. To the West he spots ‘winter’ resorts, Frozen Wastes finally put to some good use and to the East, cradled between Ashes and Highlands seem to be natural fauna and flora habitats. Upon further inspection he finds out that it’s possible to book a ticket for a hunting trip where one can go against Pandora’s most dangerous endemic species. Where Lynchwood used to be, the capital, Wysteria, stands tall, the biggest and grandest of the cities and he wonders why Rhys doesn’t live there. The communication network slowly pulses like a living breathing organism and he never thought he’d see Pandora rejuvenated and actually bringing profit. Because it clearly is, if the rapid industrial progress is anything to judge by. He delves deeper, looking for more info on Atlas. Apparently they still dabble in mass weapon production, some medical equipement but mostly, it’s terraforming while making huge profit off of Pandora being the new, hip vacation destination. A little more poking around the news and he quickly catches a wind of how things work here. Pandora may now have something loosely resembling a sort of government but it’s all Atlas, pulling their strings. Each city has a Major, appointed by Atlas no less but to his surprise, Rhys doesn’t figure on any of the ‘important’ people lists. He seems to be well liked, judging by usually positive if rather scarce news on him but there isn’t much. It’s by an accident that he stumbles across possibly the most important piece of information so far. His good mood shatters with just a handful of words. The Vault of the Traveler. This little shit -stole- it from him. The Vault, the Glory and whatever it was that the vault contained. He has had his fill of blind violence today so he breaths slowly through his nose and quietly seeths on the inside. Rhys asked him, no, begged him, to be -smart- and fuck he’s going to play this smart but sooner or later he’s gonna have that fuzzy noggin cut off and mounted to the wall. For now however, he uncharacteristically tries to calm himself down. Eventually, once he’s sure his expression won’t betray him, Jack grabs a sweater and a new rubber band to tie the extra hair at the nape of his neck, and makes his way towards the lift, stepping over a stiff corpse in the hallway with little regard.

-II-

He can pick up chatter coming from Rhys’ kitchen and once he pokes his head in, the two men fall completely silent, staring at him with intent eyes. There’s a faint memory tugging at the back of his head that he has seen them both before once or twice. They, however, must have recognised him from the get go and finally, smaller of the two, appearing even less threatening thanks to his somewhat hunched posture takes a slightly hesitant step towards Jack, hand outstretched in a welcoming gesture.

“V-vaughn sir. We are going to be working together, it’s really an honor… I’m the head of financial departament of this sectorrrr aughhh…” His words trail off into a strangled yelp as Jack moves to shake the hand offered to him and applies that little bit of extra pressure to make the grip tip from firm to painful. The clasp is retained, tiny shrimp trying to awkwardly wiggle from the handshake as Jack moves his eyes to the other man, tall, hair bleached blond and a stupid amount of piercing adorning his face which is a stark contrast to a simple but elegant black suit he’s wearing, a pair of sunglasses tucked into the open collar of his white shirt. Jack quirks his eyebrow, waiting for some introduction.

“August.” The word finally drips from the young man’s lips. “And I’ll beat yo ass if you try anything funny.” Apparently, this ‘August’ doesn't appreciate the hilarity of nearly breaking someone’s hand. That’s all the introduction he gets so his attention shifts back to the man in front of him, mismatched eyes staring down the length of his long nose.

“Oh I recognize you…” Jack trails off watching eyes behind narrow frames of green tinted glasses turn round and a little watery from the pressure he’s still exerting on the hand crushed in his grip. “...you’re that weirdly buffed up dweeb. I remember shoving my hand through your ass and turning your dick into a puppet.” He chuckles at the mortified expression he’s getting, words intentionally vague to deepen the confusion.

“Lay off hotshot, lest you want big boss crackin’a whip at you.” Another voice enters the conversation and as he turns, finally releasing his victim, his eyes sweep over the figure of the newcomer. Not half bad, tall and surrounded by that particular air of ‘bad bitch’. He likes what he’s seeing.

“Just teasing mr Vogue here ma’am.” He shows his pearly whites in a charming smile “And you are…?”

“Yvette.”

“Oh… ain’t you that double crossing bitch from Hyperion? Should’ve promoted you years and years ago while I still had the chance, you’ve got some really good assets going there for you sweet thing.” Even as he insults her, his voice is dripping with honey.

“I think I just puked a little bit in my mouth.” August’s comment is completely ignored.

“I take it Rhysie must have had an eye for you that he’d let a viper back into his nest, eh?”

“Big guy’s penchant for giving second chances is one thing, but you can’t say that didn’t work out for you too, no?”

“Touche” he cackles and he clearly can see her value to the team. She’s sharp. And possibly dangerous. Nice. A good 9 out of 10 on Jack’s scale.

“I hope you kids have been getting along…” Familiar voice trails off and Jack spots Rhys leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and his hairstyle a little worse for wear after, undoubtedly, a hard day at work. “All right, let’s get introductions out of the way. Everyone, this is Jack, he probably saw you taking a leak when he was you know…an annoying disembodied hologram. Jack, this is everyone, they didn’t see you when you were… you know, blue and annoying, you get the memo.”

-II-

They stay at Rhys’ talking about their plans and individual goals, recapping some strategies, shit clearly not meant for the board’s ears. Something about a team of vault hunters sparks his interest but he doesn’t learn anything useful for now. Jack mostly stays quiet, listening and committing to memory every potentially important detail. Eventually they trickle out, Yvette last, blowing them a kiss as she saunters towards the door.

“So… any questions?” Rhys finally breaks the silence.

“Tons actually. Let’s start with ‘how’ pumpkin, you’ve got hella lot explaining to do.”

“Well, loot from the vault we have opened actually covered most of the initial expenses. And when you are the guy who brought down the hated Hyperion, people are willing to go extra miles for you.” Rhys sinks back into his armchair, ankles loosely crossed and head propped against his hand. That more or less fills the blank in Jack’s timeline. More less than more but it will do for now. He’s got more pressing questions anyway.

“And just… what -else- did you find in the vault…?” Jack, like a hawk, is watching the other man grow slightly uncomfortable.

“I...I’ll tell you one day, okay? I’m just not ready yet…”

“And what happened with that ‘trust’ you oh so valiantly offered, hmm?” There’s an edge to his voice, eyes angrily narrowed.

“All in due time Jack… as for the trust, here it is.” Rhys fishes out a gun, safely holstered under his arm till now, and slides it across the table towards Jack. “You’re gonna need it.” And then he tells him all about Foxglove and Jack can’t contain a shit eating grin threatening to split his face.  
They go over some details until Jack is satisfied, his attention completely shifted from the whole ‘vault’ deal and he stretches his arms, joints falling into places with satisfying pops.

“You’re nasty cupcake. I like that.” He knows it’s late and Rhys’ is on his last legs but he doesn’t intend to leave just yet.

“I don’t. But some things need to be done…” he can see, from the corner of his eye as the other man squirms uncomfortably, clearly trying to say something more. “Jack… it’s late. Don’t want to be rude or anything but I need you to be gone so I can get some shut eye.”

“Oh, about that… I’ll be crashing at your place tonight. See, I’ve got that nasty situation downstairs… a nasty, stiff situation going on. And I might be needing some friendly, helping hand to resolve it.” He cocks his head at Rhys’ baffled expression, eyes bulging and mouth hanging open. He’s seen that before, yeah. “Quit with all that over thinking you are doing. I’ve got a dead body in my apartment and it’s gonna take time for the smell of blood to lift.”

-II-

Rhys doesn’t question. He doesn’t question when Jack claims the master bedroom either. Eventually he just shucks his dress shirt and pants and plops down on the couch, dragging a blanket over his tired form, too exhausted to argue. He’s almost 100% sure it’s some weird power play, it has to be. Jack is just trying to assert his dominance but Rhys will let him have this small victory and with Foxglove thing on the move, he’s gonna get this asshole out of his hair soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I kinda like this 'swapping POV for the last few lines', I might gonna keep doind that. Y/N?


	6. Combination of glory and hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shit goes down and Rhys is totally done with his favourite asshole (◕ᴗ◕✿)

-Rhys-

The first ten time he has done that, his knees were weak, trembling like that of a newborn fawn. And when he spoke his voice was quiet and uneven, scratched from an all nighter of rehearsals. 

But it’s not his first rodeo, nor is it his tenth. Rhys has done this so many times that by now he’s the epitome of calmness and easy-going charm. He even has learned to take pleasure in it. Sick and twisted pleasure of having a gigantic crowd hold their collective breath as he lazily strides towards the microphone, all swagger and crooked half-grins, everything caught on cameras, the image enhanced and displayed on large screens surrounding him. So that every single person has no other choice but look at him. Listen to him. And then submit.

Gathered before him in a large plaza is the elite, nothing more than a couple thousands people. But his speech will be streamed to every single house, apartment or any other place that has a receiver.

“Citizens of Foxglove, what a mighty fine morning we have here!” The crowd cheers and he leans closer to the mic. “I am so, -so- overjoyed to see you all here with us, right Major?” The man standing to his right puffs out his chest, gold buttons reflecting the glimmer of morning sun and he nods vigorously. “I’ve been hearing lots’a good stuff about what goes down here, you’re bringing company a nice, round profit. You guys are the real champs! I appreciate you!” As the camera catches his wink the people go insane, cheering and frantically waving. Rhys patiently waits for them to calm down, face pulled into a somewhat embarrassed expression at such a warm receival.

“Except some of you aren’t.” His tone suddenly drops to a low growl and before the words register with the crowd, he smoothly draws a gun and pulls the trigger. The Major drops to the floor, all cameras now focused on his comically twisted face as blood begins to pool around him.

“Like for example our late Major. Such a shame…” He rests one hand on his hip, fingers of the other pinching the bridge of his nose and he shakes his head in a pretend-grief.   
“So the other thing I’ve also been hearing lately is that you guys have been … let’s call things as they are… -stealing- from Atlas. And then… what?” he touches his ear pretending to be listening for an answer from the crowd.  
”Ah yeah… thank you dearie… drugs. Ladies and gentlemen you have been trying to open up some shady drug cartel business right under my nose. But that’s okay I forgive you this part!” Man he loves the sound of his voice maybe a little bit too much. It’s time to wrap up and finally break the spell he holds over the petrified crowd.   
“However, I am really REALLY cross with you about the money you kept to yourself. And that’s something that needs to be punished. I don’t want to do that, but you know, a guy has to be stern when it really matters.” Precious seconds trickle down as he lets the tension build.   
“And that’s why, guys and gals, I would like to introduce your brand new Major…” as on cue (because it actually -is- on cue) the small flock of bodyguards and assistants parts and there he is.  
“The legend! The asshole! The one and only, Hhhhhhhandsome Jack!” Up till now the crowd was paralyzed with fear, now however, they go into an overdrive, bone chilling dread taking over, they sway slightly as if considering flying, morbid silence filling the plaza and a couple of people faints.

“...‘sup kiddos. Heard you’ve been naughty.” 

Behind Jack who’s now taking the center of the attention stands Rhys. Who’s also paralyzed. Not with fear however, with utter, overwhelming fury, blood boiling in his veins, face slowly turning red. He keeps replaying the last half of a minute in his head over and over again.

-II-

It totally, -totally- happens in slow motion. Rhys is deliberately half-turning to meet the other man as he takes a step back and then down from the platform, encouraging smile curling the corners of his lips. Jack’s expression is unreadable but he seems to be fairly confident, warm wind softly tugging at his perfectly styled, finally brought to it’s normal, short state hairstyle. He’s wearing some atrocious combination of various layers, a plain orange dress shirt, dark grey V-neck sweater with ashy trimmings and Atlas’ logo embroidered over his chest, and on top of that, something halfway between a coat and a tux. A stronger gust of air makes the flaps flutter and it’s easy to spot a gun in a holster strapped to his thigh. Rhys’ eyes drift lazily lower as the other man is slowly taking a step up onto the podium and that’s when he sees -it-. The material of Jack’s trousers lifts as his knee bends, exposing his ankle just that little bit. It’s not just -an- ankle, it’s an ankle clad in on of RHYS’ socks. Orange pumpkins merrily dancing between light gray strips, all atop a black background. His eyes furiously shoot up to meet Jack’s shit eating grin and right there and then he sees the face of devil incarnate. 

And then the time speeds up again and he’s left here quietly seething as Jack basks in glory like a giant, lazy, nasty cat who just took a giant shit into Rhys’ favourite bowl of cereal.

-II-

Rhys patiently sits through the follow up meeting, listening to Jack bossing people around and when all's said and done and they look expectantly to him, he just waves them off.

“Meeting adjourned.”

He’s sat across the room from Jack, ankle over knee, cheek against palm and eyes that could kill a lesser man.

“What is it cupcake, you sulking?” But Jack ain’t no lesser man and so he dares to tease further.

“I didn’t let you into my place to have you snooping around and stealing my stuff.” He hisses, clearly pissed beyond reason.

“Ooohhh, but they’re simply -adorable-. These little pumpkins made me think of you!” Jack’s singsong voice is like adding oil to fire. Fire, which is already burning with righteous anger. The other man bends and starts fumbling with his shoelaces all the while shooting Rhys nasty smirks.   
“Anyway, it was great wearing them. Be a dearie and get them washed, will ya?” A dirty sock catches outraged Rhys in the face. He lets out an indignant shriek, rolling away on his chair, tongue half stuck out in disgust.

“Ewww whyareyousogrossohmygod.” A wordbarf follows his violent reaction. 

Rhys takes a few deep breaths to calm himself down, rubbing his hand over his face to get off whatever cooties came as a bonus with the sock. Finally, seething rage turned into ice-cold anger, Rhys picks the sock from the ground, clenching it in his flesh hand. Rising to his full height he crosses the distance between them in a few, curt strides, now towering over the other man, who’s still perched on his own chair. Rhys’ eyes are calculating as he searches for something on Jack’s face but apparently not having found it, he moves with deliberate precision, metal fist slamming with surprising force into the table just east to Jack’s elbow.

“Cut the crap you skag skank! -I am not amused.-” His words come clear as crystal and booming like thunder. It may come as a surprise to Jack, but Rhys hasn’t built Atlas on little favours and charming words alone.

“Wow, and here I thought you brought me back as a proverbial boogeyman to whip this mess into some kind of order. You, sir, seem to have the boogeyman part covered yourself.” Jack keeps talking even though he seems to be nervously eyeing the crack left in the table.

“Doesn’t your ass ever get jealous of all the shit that keeps coming out of your mouth? Sheesh.” Despite the snark Rhys has already more or less calmed down and he returns to his seat, facing Jack once again. “Thought we went over this already. I want you involved in our operations. Foxglove seems like a nice place to start, since you can both vent and get a first hand experience. If you don’t want it there’s always janitorial vacancy.”

“Nuh-uh I’m good pumpkin. Delighted to be where I am and eternally grateful for this opportunity.” Jack is half joking to lighten the mood but Rhys interprets his words in a completely different manner. 

“I’m… uhh, sorry.” Rhys drops his head and stares at the tips of his shoes.

“Heh. Don’t be. You know one thing I can respect is power. And you clearly are holding everyone here on a tight leash. I mean… that thing on the podium? Exquisite. I would have done that only marginally better. Way to go pumpkin, you gotta shoot ‘em before they start getting any serious ideas.”

He keeps his gaze fixed on the floor in hopes of keeping that stupid expression of joy and pride at Jack’s praise away from inquisitive heterochromatic eyes. 

“Thanks I guess.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, a sort of an involuntary gesture.  
“It’s not... easy… “ When the need strikes, he may be a cold blooded asshole by the light of the day, but by night he sometimes lets the faces of his victims haunt him.

“I knoooow Rhysie. You ain’t gotta a mean bone in your whole body.” Jack coos but there is no underlying maliciousness, and thus, nothing to bring Rhys’ anger back.

“Can’t really deny that heh.” Rhys cracks a soft smile at the other man, raising his head to meet his eyes.

“I, on the other hand, have plenty, could even give you one if you ask nicely.”

The back of Rhys’ neck feels extra hot, as do the tips of his ears. He tosses the sock back at Jack and with a more or less nonchalant ‘keep it’, leaves.

-II-

Lack of any positive reaction to his innuendo doesn’t make Jack’s mood any less -awesome-. The sock is carelessly dropped just left to the nearest trash bin and he finally follows after Rhys, a key card for his new Foxglove apartment in one hand and a bucket list from Rhys in other. He’s got some killing to do and the future looks that fraction brighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter in a couple of hours after i get meself some zzz's


	7. Stumbling but still looking hella fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little bit more introspective and a set up for the ending

-Jack-

The first night in Foxglove he gets himself some company. The second night he gets himself some more company. And then some more more. Heads roll by day, all kinds of earthly pleasures by night and he doesn’t sleep much between all that. He has slept his fill during his floating in nothingness and now it’s time to be ALIVE. And hell yeah but he feels alive. It lasts for five days in a row until something in him breaks and he kicks everybody out, threatening to add them to his bucket list as they hastily scramble about trying to disappear without a trace. On the sixth night he’s left all alone with nothing but his thoughts and something clenching in his chest. Another sleepless night but this time there is no booze or adrenaline coursing through his veins to finally wear him down enough to get some shut eye during the early hours. 

-II-

He watches the sunrise through a wide window in his office and then snaps at the surprised secretary. First time he didn’t show up to work late as fuck and she makes the mistake of pointing that out.

Despite spending most of his day in the office today, he doesn’t do much actual work, wasting most of the time faceplanting his desk and idly rolling back and forth on his swivel chair. Chair, might he add, nowhere near as grand as the one that used to adorn his old office on Helios.

Jack is doing here some serious thinking. Well, yeah, he likes trampling over other people, but everyone here is cowering in fear, even wrecking the hookers brings only short-lived satisfaction of a cheap release. He knows, he just -knows- that Foxglove is nothing but a bone thrown to a misbehaving dog to keep him occupied. What he really is lacking, is some actual challenge. There is no fun in breaking what’s already broken. And maybe easy pleasures are what he thinks he wants but it sure as hell isn’t what he needs. Sinking his teeth into a screaming, kicking prey he just brought down to its knees after a long fight is the ultimate satisfaction, and one that could break the spell apathy has over him since his awakening. There is only one other alpha dog here and Jack won’t rest easy until he is the only one left. He’s done sucking up to other people and the last time he felt like that, he turned Hyperion into his playground. But first, he needs to know how far the proverbial leash Rhys’ has slipped around his neck reaches. And then he can turn around and finally bite off the hand that feeds.

And so, for the next two days he wreaks complete havoc in hopes of getting Atlas’ CEO pissed.

Which doesn’t turn out to be such a great idea because it sparks no response. And so here he is, reeling with anger beyond reason and on an evening train taking him back to Nerium. 

-II-

Jack slams the door open and catches Rhys on his way from the living room to the kitchen, empty bowl in one hand and a somewhat guilty expression on his face. He’s wearing a plain T-shirt with Atlas’ everpresent logo and a pair of boxers, clearly readying himself for sleep. Not that Jack gives a jackshit about it, coming in full force to tackle the other man, a soft ‘omph’ slipped when his back meets the hard tiles of the floor. He’s got his hands around Rhys’ throat in an instant, thumbs on either sides of his windpipe and pulse frantically beating against the pads of his fingers. There is murder in his eyes but his prey doesn’t seem to be all that impressed, shooting him a flat stare. Rhys stays motionless, arms splayed to his sides, hands curled into loose fists and an impassive look on his stupid face despite redness beginning to creep onto his cheeks from the lack of oxygen. Jack is straddling him, effectively putting his weight over his chest to make it all the more effective but at the same time he’s torn, mixed emotions fighting inside of him. He needs Rhys to fight back and to loose, not to just let Jack have his way because that’s not fun and that’s not what he came here for and he’s so, so done with being treated like this. Rhys has no right to act like a disgruntled father towards a moody teenager and he has no right either to look the way he looks like right now. Plump lips now swollen with blood pooling there from the lack of circulation, eyes half lidded and hair tousled. Ooops, this train of thoughts is off-limit and so he has to redirect his focus somewhere else.

“Fight back you idiot if you don’t want to DIE!” Jack’s yells are met with a split-second hesitation and then the tiniest of nods follows. A fist connects with the inside of his elbow making his grip break and Rhys is already bucking wildly to get the literal weight off of his chest. Another punch comes catching Jack in the side of his jaw and it’s clear Rhys isn’t pulling back his punches as he topples the other man to the side. It takes Jack a moment to regain his clarity, burning eyes meeting surprisingly dark and hard stare but he’s quick to retaliate with his own blows. Rhys is… actually doing more flailing than fighting, his inexperience showing but he more than makes up for it with dedication. Jack on the other hand is still lacking in the strength department but years of experience keep him from losing. They make mess not only of each other faces but of Rhys’ apartment too. By the time their fight comes to a slow halt, Jack’s ears are ringing, lip and one eyebrow busted, knuckles bruised and he’s breathing hard through his nose. Rhys rolls off of him and plops flat on his back next to the other man, his face in no better condition as he lays there probing his own split lip with the tip of his tongue, blood from his nose smeared over his face and he’s sporting a black eye. 

“Wow pumpkin, that was real good.” The tension slowly leaves Jack’s shoulders but his heart hardly slows down and he realizes he’s stupidly hard. He doesn’t have the time to figure out what to do about this situation when Rhys is already leaning over him, one hand extended, an offer to help Jack to his feet. He doesn’t refuse and when Rhys pulls he finds himself standing mere inches from the other man, burning heat of the other body clashing with his own fire. 

“You are an insufferable asshole Jack.” Rhys hisses and tries to take a step back but stops when Jack wraps his iron grip around his wrist pulling him infinitesimal closer. He has to crane his neck slightly to peer into brown and yellow eyes and it’s another thing that pisses him off about Rhys.

“You’re driving me mad kiddo…” It’s nearly a threat and Rhys tenses in anticipation of another fight breaking out.

“Right back at you.” Once you fall into Jack’s orbit it is impossibly hard to break free but Rhys finally manages, his own resolve strong enough to resist the gravitation trying to pull him into a head down dive. 

Jack lets the other man drag him to the kitchen and patch his face, finding some sort of solace in gentle hands meticulously wiping the blood from his face. It’s all the more pleasant now that he knows they can be equally rough. He doesn’t return the favor however, grabbing a cold bottle from the fridge and seating himself on the couch. A swarm of R00m3As set of to clean up the mess they’ve made as Rhys washes his face and slaps some antibacterial coating over small cuts littering his face. Eventually they are both curled on their respective pieces of furniture, Jack unseeingly staring at the TV while Rhys burns holes with his eyes into the corner of the room. Despite some remnants of anger still bubbling inside of him, a small yawn tears Rhys’ lips apart.

“Alright...” He says when it becomes clear Jack isn’t planning on leaving anytime soon “...give me the key card to your place and you can stay here I don’t really give a crap.” Rhys is already standing up, one hand extended in a demanding gesture and waiting for the key card.

“No.”

“No?”

“I didn’t come here all the way from Foxglove to spend the night alone…” Jack’s voice may be strong and demanding but there’s a tinge of vulnerability, a veiled plea.

“Can I at least…?”

“No.”

Rhys stands there for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose and finally with an exasperate sigh throws himself face down on the couch, right next to Jack, butt facing the other man. Thankfully it’s large enough to accommodate the both of them, L shaped and long enough to just barely fit Rhys’ full length. Barely. He can’t have his privacy, he can’t have his bed and so Jack will have to deal with his kicking feet in his face as Rhys makes himself comfortable, one of his heels catching the other man in the tender rib, perhaps on accident perhaps on purpose.

“Oww, common Rhysie, stop being petty!” He grabs the offending limb and forces both of them to lay still across his lap, giving an affectionate pet when they stop flailing.

“Can’t believe you just said that.” Rhys grumbles, face turned towards the back of the couch, all fluffed up and grumpy with his arms crossed over his chest.

-II-

Jack wakes up when something uncomfortably digs into his stomach, and cracking his eyes open,locates the source of discomfort. Rhys’ foot. He looks up, taking in the view before him. The other man is stretched on his back, one arm carelessly tossed over the armrest of the couch, the other splayed palm flat over his stomach, half tucked under his shirt, riding up just high enough to show some skin and a patch of darker hair. There’s a blanket carelessly covering one of his legs and midsection, a blanket similar to the one Jack finds with surprise wrapped around himself too. Anyway, Rhys is truly a view to behold, he looks almost adorable with slightly parted lips and long lashes casting shadows over his bruised cheekbones. And that’s something Jack doesn’t say, or think, very often.

“Stop staring, you’re creepin’m out.” Rhys mumbles, his voice rough and scratched and there are bruises on his throat from Jack’s hands.

“Just admiring my handiwork, you look like a right mess.” Though he suspects he doesn’t look any better judging by the dull pain in the side of his face. “Anyways, thanks for the blanket, shows ya really care ‘bout your pal Jack.”

Rhys snorts, both arms rising above his head as he stretches with a deeply satisfied yawn. “You’re welcome asshole. I can’t believe you went through all the trouble of kicking me out of my own bed to just sleep here anyway. And just so you know, you can sleep wherever and whenever you want but I’m ordering a bed to my work room and you better keep your greedy paws off of it.” He means the small office he has here in his apartment, a few shelves and a narrow desk with just enough space for a stack of papers and a monitor. Jack just shrugs, not like he can promise anything, and with that, he’s heading for the kitchen, finally taking the time to take off his bloodied sweater, and upon further inspection, also dirtied dress shirt. In just his sleeveless top he sets off to brewing a coffee for himself.

“Make that three, Vaughn’s gonna be here soon.” He can hear Rhys’ voice trailing off as the door to the bathroom closes. Okay, he can do that, no probs. Except he puts salt instead of sugar in the last one.

Rhys is nearly done wolfing down his bowl of cereal, his strange love for this child snack something Jack cannot wrap his head around, he’s fully dressed, damp hair slicked back when Vogue shows up.

They receive a confused glare and a ‘do I even wanna know?’

“Err… right, about that, Vaughn, we’re just…” Rhys stammers and Jack decides to come to his rescue, hooking, a little bit too tightly, an arm around the other man’s shoulders.

“...just guys…”

“... being dudes.” Rhys finishes Jack’s statement with a sheepish smile.

He decides to leave the two men to their conversation, heading for the bathroom himself, his shit-eating grin showing up when he can hear the little shrimp choking on the coffee. 1:0 for Jack!

-II-

“...bro, I’m really hoping you’ve got this situation under control.”

“I do.”

“For real?”

“For the realest of reals bro.”

Jack catches the end of the conversation as he comes back and then the shrimp is gone, silence filling the room.

“Do you Rhysie?” The other man jerks slightly before turning back to meet his eyes.

“You think otherwise?”

“See, what I’m thinking is that you’re a real sucka for praise pumpkin. Think I didn’t see ya’ face all light up when I praised you, eh?”

Rhys’ expression turns sour at those words but the look he gives the teasing man is that of pure steel.

“So what if I am? Think I’ve done a bad job turning this shithole into something presentable?”

“I don’t care pumpkin, I couldn’t give a flying skag’s arse about what happens down here.”

“What?” Brown and yellow eyes turn to meet his, confusion clear in the way Rhys’ eyebrows pull together.

“Oh my GOD. Rhys, don’t tell me you are this STUPID. Did you really fall for all the crap Hyperion crammed into your dumb skull? That anybody, that -I-, care for this god forsaken disgrace of a planet? Man, I used to, yeah, but that was before everything went south, and back then you were a wee boy suckin on ya mom’s tit. For all I care now, this whole place could get nuked and I wouldn’t shed a single tear!”

“...”

“Oh don’t give me that kicked puppy look, you know I LOVE kicking puppies.”

“Jack…” Rhys’ voice is small and tight, hands curled into fists, his scratched knuckles turning white. “...what do you care about then?”

“Duh, the money, the power, the glory and being a goddamn hero you moron.” He rides the high that comes with breaking some of Rhys’ composure.

“Congratulations, you had got the first two down to a tee.” Rhys snaps at him but he looks like he’s still deeply shaken by Jack’s words. “-Had-, might I remind you.”

“What, you’re doubting the glory and hero part kid? I tried to protect this damned planet for my whole life. Hell, I even died protecting it and what do I get in return? Spite and disdain.”

“Wow, your definition of a ‘hero’ is so warped I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Alright then kitten, I’ll bite, enlighten me.” He’s just received the most spiteful look from Rhys up to date.

“Being a hero is about being noble, it’s not about doing things for your perceived ‘greater good’ and waiting for the masses to applaud your actions. If after you are gone there is at least one person missing you, a person whose life you changed into something good, then that’s enough to be a hero. It’s not about stroking your ego till you come you assdick!” Rhys stands up to tower over the other man, using the advantage of those few inches he has over him. “And let me tell you, nobody missed you when you -died-. You couldn’t make even your family happy.” 

“You know NOTHING! No one dares to speak about Handsome Jack like THAT!” Jack is seeing red, everything drowned out as he lashes at the other man, taking a sweeping swing.

His fist meets nothing but empty air, iron grip suddenly around his wrist and his momentum is used against him as Rhys lets him fly forward. Flesh arm hooks around Jack’s throat, swinging arm bent painfully at his back and he suddenly finds himself with a faceful of cold hard floor, Rhys’ knee digging into the small of his back.

“I do Jack. And you better get used to it really quick.” Hot breath ghosts against the shell of his ear and as he tries to wiggle from the grip he painfully discovers he’s turned on again. Fuck him. This day just keeps getting better and better. He tries cursing and snapping his teeth at the other man but the grip is unyielding. “You were -my- hero once. Look where your stubbornness got you now. I’m trying to help you but don’t test my patience.” more of those nearly sweet, raspy words seep into his ear. It takes some time and more spitted curses but only once he completely ceases his flailing does Rhys release him. 

He’s left alone, laying face flat on the floor and going over and over everything in his head.

-II-

Rhys feels bad for lashing out like that, but he told Vaughn he has Jack under control, didn’t he? Once he arrives at his office, he snaps at his PA pointing out that he’s later than usual and then locks himself inside for the rest of the day, sincerely hoping Jack will get the memo and be gone from his apartment by the time he returns.


	8. Hard beats and keen wits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Convenient plot device is convenient, but worry not, it will be explained sometime in the future.

-Rhys-

It has been a couple of days since their fight and Jack refuses to answer Rhys’ calls which leaves the latter brooding in the safety of his office. That’s not how he wanted for things to go and eventually, after calling in sick the next day, Rhys grabs his coat and heads for the door.

The drive to Foxglove is monotonous and leaves too much free time for sulking. He picks up something sweet to get back into Jack’s good graces on his way and with a sigh, enters the other man’s place with a spare key card. All that’s left is an agonizingly long wait and quiet hopes as he makes himself at home, sat by the kitchen counter.

-II-

“Seems like my bad habits are rubbing off on you kiddo.” Jack’s voice rings clear in the silence of the apartment.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Came to check how your favourite pet project is hanging? Peachy if you need to know.” The snark is obvious, Rhys gets it, okay, thank you very much.

“Yes and no, I bring peace offerings.” He points to a simple white box laid on the counter. Once Jack curiously peeks inside, he finds a cake there, slightly mangled from its trip to another city.

“I ain’t your trophy wife that you can sway me with sweets.” Jack is clearly still grumpy but it doesn’t deter Rhys when with a mumbled ‘suit yourself’ he sinks a fork straight into the sweet pastry. Oh god he needed that from the moment he saw it laid out on display and just… -waiting- for him. It earns him a snort and eventually he’s joined in the destruction he’s wreaking, no words exchanged. 

“I take it that’s your way of saying ‘sorry for being such a dickwad.” Jack wipes the back of his hand over his lips to clean the icing, done with sweets for now. Rhys figures he’s not much of a sweet tooth anyway.

“Yeah, you could learn something from this experience.” After all, it’s not him who’s the biggest asshole here. 

“Like hell.”

“Mmm, then how about this…” dangling in his fingers is a data stick, no labels no nothing.

“Aaaand there’s the carrot…” Jack only mumbles in response.

“I’ll let you in on what I have found in the vault and you will try to act that tiny bit less like an utter fuck, deal?”

“...and the stick.”

“Come on man, try to meet me halfway here.” 

Silence stretches between them for a couple of long minutes.

“... k.” Begrudgingly Jack nods and soon enough the data stick is snatched from his hands. Jack plugs it into one of the data pad scattered across the table and immediately starts scrolling through the blueprints, eyes narrowed as he’s trying to make heads and tails of what he’s seeing.

“Okay I see” He keeps nodding to himself as he goes “... hmmm I actually don’t know what I’m seeing here.”

“Me neither really.” Rhys just shrugs, abandoning what’s left of the cake and joining the other man on the couch where he’s currently perched at.

“What?”

“Yeah, see we don’t really know what it is. Once we have entered the vault, me and Fiona got separated, we both got some weird ass visions and then the vault just spit us out. Later I found it in my pocket. I’m assuming Fi’s also found something but she wouldn’t tell me. Guess she hasn’t got her treasure figured out either.” Rhys huffs at the memory but there is no use getting angry over it so he just sinks back into the couch.

“Any ideas what it does? It kinda looks like a small device but there are no plugs, no ports no nothing…” Jack keeps turning around the interactive 3D blueprint of the thing.

“Some ideas. It also… uh, it has those thin pipe-like extensions, I don’t know how to explain it. They pop up and latch onto things I guess. Scroll further, you’ll see for yourself.”

Jack does as he’s told and Rhys peeks over his shoulder to take a look as well, even though he knows the design by heart. It looks like a cage, sort of. About the size of a fist, a network of strings snaking around to create a somewhat oval shape and a couple of those pipes criss-crossing through the ‘cage’. The small device from the previous blueprint sits atop this mess. 

“That’s how it looks like when it’s active. It can also contract…”

“I want to see the real deal Rhysie.”

“Can’t.”

“Oh really? You’re asking me to play nice and in return you’re just tossing me scraps. Come on -kitten-, don’t be like that.” Jack’s words are like a drawn out, bad imitation of a meow. And he’s also fanning his eyelashes at Rhys. God.

“It’s… hidden, securely. Somewhere I can keep an eye on it…”

Jack is squinting his eyes so hard at Rhys, the latter suddenly is grateful for his little show of dominance few days prior else he would be having Jack claw at his face right now.

“I. Want. To. Know.”

“You really don’t.” Rhys sighs and stares intently at the tips of his shoes in hopes of avoiding this conversation.

Jack lifts slightly, looming over the other man with one hand pressed next to his head against the back of the couch as the other curls under Rhys’ chin to force him to lift his head and meet Jack’s stare.

“Come on pumpkin, if you were so hell bent on not telling me you would have told me to fuck off by now. That something weighing on your consciousness?” Wow the man can be so insistent sometimes. “Share your secrets with papa, that gonna make ya feel better.” Rhys seriously doubts that but eventually he makes up his mind.

“Here…” Jack’s eyes follow the line of his forearms until they arrive on Rhys’ hand, firmly placed against the other’s chest, right over his heart.

“What?”

“Haven’t you wondered how we actually managed to animate this body? I mean, the clones are cool and all and you can steer it largely thanks to the cybernetic endoskeleton but the body wasn’t… alive when we found it. Well preserved, but never alive in the first place.”

Jack must have known about clones being nothing else but empty shells, pretty sculptures but nothing more. Else he would have an army of clones running around right off the bat.

Right now he looks like he’s having a mild attack of aneurysm, face blank and eyes wide.

“So ya trying to tell me Rhysie I’ve been prancing about with a piece of alien technology stuck in my body all this time?” He finally utters and Rhys only nods. If not for the whole grim air of the situation he would be having the time of his life watching Handsome Jack rendered nearly speechless for the very first time. “Wow, that’s dangerous.”

“Better than being dead, right?”

Colours slowly return to Jack’s face and he takes one shaky breath before unleashing a real cacophony of complaints and rhetorical questions to state the obvious. So much for the time of Rhys’ life. Poof, gone in a wordvomit. He patiently waits for it to run its course before he speaks again.

“Just so you know, we didn’t straight up jam it into your chest. We’d run tons of tests on live and dead subjects. We just don’t know the extent of its possibilities. Yet. But the staff suspected it may… grant you longevity. And that’s why the facility -had- to go.” He runs his hand through his hair, guilt once again settling in the pit of his stomach. “Do not make light of their sacrifice, they were good people. People who knew what they have signed up for from day one.”

After his tantrum, Jack seems to be in one of his quiet, or rather quieter moods, lost in thoughts and distant. Rhys figures he needs some space.

“Rrright, now that we have this conversation ticked off… I’ll be going I guess… no need to see me to the door really…”

...stay.” It stops him dead in his track as he slowly turns around to face the other man again.

“Stay.” This time it’s a command, previous hesitation gone. And so Rhys complies, returning to the sofa and after another few minutes of awkward silence he turns the TV on just to keep his eyes busy. He knows Jack well enough to recognize a literal storm of thoughts and doubts swirling in his head. But then he also knows that Jack is slightly… constipated when it comes to emotions and talking about them. So he doesn’t press the subject further, once, and if, the other man is ready, he’ll let Rhys know. 

Eventually Jack moves so that his legs are curled, knees pressing to his chest and arms wrapped around them. They are so close Rhys can feel the back of the couch dip with every breath Jack takes as they both keep half-heartedly watching the flashing images on the TV.

Two or three hours late Rhys is lightly dozing off, head propped against the back of the couch and some drool pooled in the corner of his mouth.

“AHA!” It jerks him away as a triumphant shout breaks the silence. He’s rubbing sleep from his eyes as he watches Jack bounce to his feet with surprising vigor given he has been sulking unmovable for the past few hours.

“W..wha?” That’s all he manages to say as he groggily shifts on the couch.

“I’m done!”

“What? With what?”

“I’m done wrapping my head around this. I’ve got this figured out baby!”

 

“Well, all right?” Rhys doesn’t know how he feels about Jack being back to his usual, perky, cheerful and murderous self. Probably something like, 70% relieved and 30% disturbed.

“Damn right it’s all right. Now, onto celebrations!” Jack is already shoving a low tumbler into Rhys’ hand, generously filled with amber liquid. Not his favourite but it will do. “To me being now not only killer handsome but also worth like three fucking space stations!”

“Heh, okay, I can drink to that.” Glasses chime as they raise a toast. “But really Jack, you’re worth at least one space station and that’s without the alien tech.”

-II-

Rhys spends the night on a couch and he hates every second of it. In the wee hour of the morning, uncomfortable curled on the couch that is too narrow and short for him he hates Jack with burning passion. He misses his couch somewhat fierce but a part of him also misses the warmth of Jack’s body as they sat together and the calming rhythm of his breaths. He fusses but eventually chalks it up to some remnants of Jack’s fanboy which he constantly have to keep stifle since the other man is back. 

Proper morning comes and Jack finds him plundering the cupboards in search of something to eat. 

“Morning cupcake, you ain’t gonna find anything there. You’ll have to do with what’s left of my cake.” Rhys stops to take stock of the other man, his messy hair, ridiculous T-shirt with some stupid print and soft grey pants. He rolls his eyes at the shirt. Really, Jack is like an overgrown child. And this very thought is the spark that starts their next quarrel.

“Ain’t that like a dream come true for ya kiddo? Cake. For breakfast? Bet you dreamt about this your whole childhood, eh? What with you and your unhealthy cereal habits.”

“Jack…”

“Gotta get lotta’ calcium to get those bones of yours growing strong, right kiddo?”

“Call me kiddo one more time, I swear…” So yeah, the couch and sleepless night are getting to him as usually pet names are something that hardly bothers him.

“Or what… -kiddo-?” Ooohh he done that. He done fucked up and Rhys is lashing out to grab the other man by the collar of his dumb shirt. 

Rhys just growls instead of spewing further threats, eyes burning and lips curled over his teeth in a snarl. All in all, this little tussle, as Jack elbows him in the ribs, is nothing like the memorable fight which got him here in the first place. There is no real maliciousness, Rhys just looking for an outlet and yeah… Jack’s habits are definitely rubbing off on him.  
It’s almost playful. Almost.

-II-

Jack huffs a little puff of air and he readily gives into the play-fight, never one to turn something like that down. Even though he quickly oversteps some boundaries, his need to dominate taking over and making him play dirty, soon enough he has Rhys pinned against the counter, chest to chest as his fingers wrap tightly against a mechanical wrist. But then Rhys does something so surprising Jack is momentarily left stunned for a second. The other man leans in, shooting him a wolfish grin and then that little fucker bites him. It was semi serious before but right now it’s fucking ON.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really all over the place because halfway through the previous chapter things spiralled out of my control.  
> Ladies and gentlemen we are no longer following the script! Strap in for a rough ride!


	9. Highroll gone wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two dicks touch, also, literally  
> also, song reccomendation for this chapter -> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HOnSO7vJCTg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> told ya you were on your knees :^)

-Jack-

Jack has spent the rest of the night with his palm splayed over his chest, feeling the beat of his artificially powered heart. All in all that was fairly exciting, the visions of which Rhys spoke certainly had his interest picked but there will be time and place for this later. He kept thinking of the kid some more, angrily huddled on the couch and fluffed up like a pissy skag trying to appear bigger than it actually is. He is fairly good looking and Jack would already have him bent over his desk a couple of times if things were the way they used to be. But they aren’t and Rhys is beyond Jack’s reach, no interest shown, and that drives him bananas while at the same time making the kid all the more appealing. Like, he could always force himself onto him, and man, the way he’s been treated so far it would most probably be met with another fight for dominance, maybe even a victory for him, or impassiveness and he doesn’t want either. What he actually wants is Rhys begging for him, to see the kid with that stupid look of adoration and fear on his stupid, stupid face. Because so far, it’s Jack making doe eyes at the other man. And that’s not very Handsome Jack of him. Handsome Jack doesn’t go around begging people to fuck him. It’s the OTHER way round. He huffed in exasperation. His balls were so blue he might end up going on another killing spree in the morning. 

-II-

This little fucker bites him and Jack hisses, grabbing a fistful of soft hair and he tugs the other man away from his shoulder. But this moment of distraction costs him his upper hand and then it is him who’s pinned against the kitchen counter. He thrashes wildly when Rhys crowds his personal space but to no avail, while he has no troubles breaking free from the hold of the flesh hand, the mechanical fingers keep his other wrist in a painful, unyielding grip. His own fingers tangle into the belt loop of Rhys’ trousers and he’s torn between tugging the other man closer and shoving him away. The decision is made for him as he can suddenly feel Rhys pressing into him, from knees to chests and maybe he should be a little bit more concerned but then he catches that playful glint in brown and yellow eyes like Rhys is about to tell him the best damn joke ever. And by god, Rhys is so bad at jokes, everybody and their mothers know it. A warning growl comes from Jack when the other man leans all that closer, playfulness suddenly gone and replaced by something dark, something Jack has caught glimpses of before, like skimming over the surface of deep waters. Except the water is pitch black, warm brown and yellow swallowed by dilated pupils. If not for the playful prelude he could be scared shitless, or you know… the closes Handsome Jack can get to such a feeling, but all that he’s feeling right now is excitement and various emotions riled up and swirling just beneath his skin, air around them nearly crackling with static. Warm lips brush against the shell of his ear and he’s nearly paralyzed, so caught up into Rhys he doesn’t know which way’s up or down. 

“I just need you to remember that your biological age is just … a couple of months.... Jackie…” The shiver shooting up his spine is strong enough that Rhys -has to- feel it, they are so closely entwined into each other that Jack can feel tale tell hardness pressing against his thigh as Rhys shifts to adjust his position. He’s glaring daggers at the other man, a thumb pressed to the side of his jaw keeping him from fully facing Rhys. 

“So really, who’s the -kiddo- here, eh?”

My god he’s pissing Jack off sooo much. But he’s also turning him on beyond reason. His only retort is to grind back and that catches Rhys off guard, Jack seizing his chance to reverse their position, he can feel another chest rising and falling shakily against his own as the other man exhales with a surprised huff. Jack doesn’t waste time, another roll of his hips as he keeps one hand firmly planted on one boney hip, the other fairly gently wrapping around Rhys’ exposed throat, pulse fluttering against the pad of his thumb. He doesn’t make a move to tighten his fingers and just tucks his nose into the grove where Rhys’ throat meets his jaw, call it a nuzzle for lack of a better word except Handsome Jack doesn’t do ‘nuzzles’.  
The best part is hearing all those little huffs escaping those plush lips and ghosting over the top of his head. Another -the- best part is the way Rhys responds, curling into Jack’s and involuntarily rolling with his movements. Or maybe the best part are the fingers tangled into his hair, keeping him close, the other palm splayed against the small of his back, cool metal digits sliding under the hem of his shirt. Or you know, scratch that, all of that is the best and it’s also hella awkward as they are trying to find some rhythm, stupidly humping and holding onto each other for dear life. Later, Jack will say it was dumb, silly, two grown up men acting like teenagers in heat, no grace or finesse, so, -so- not his style. Now however, he only bothers enough to pull down the band of his pants and hisses when hot flesh meets with the hard surface of Rhys’ belt buckle. Thankfully that’s enough of a prompt for the other man to get that extra layer between them out of the way before they slot into each other again. There are no kisses, no gentleness, just animalistic drive and slowly forming bruises when the moment takes them too far, fingers digging into muscles. He gives a sharp tug to a grey dress shirt that keeps getting in the way, buttons popping and Rhys shivers against him, breathy moan slipping from his lips.  
By the time he feels damp warmth blooming against his front they are pressed cheek to cheek, Rhys bowing his head, his whole body slightly curved to compensate for the height difference. Jack keeps his arm loosely draped over the other man’s shoulder, the other hand splayed over his hip, directing the languid rolls of their hip and man, he’s close, verging on tipping over the edge, biting down on his lower lip, eyes screwed tight. It’s now easier with additional slickness but it also means that Rhys loses some of his investment, flinching with oversensitivity. He seems to want to compensate for that, hands beginning to roam over Jack’s body, somewhat uncertain but then curious fingers brush accidentally over the port at the nape of his neck and -ohfuck- the light current makes his body jerk and the world stops for him right here and now. 

He stands there for a moment, hands braced against the counter and head hanging low as he tries to catch his breath. Man, that was irresponsible and totally AWESOME. Because irresponsible always comes with awesome but also because it was like… -all- kinds of awesome. Eventually he shakes his head, one hand moving to tug his pants up and he glances at the other man. Rhys is nonchalantly finishing wiping his front with a kitchen towel, a concerned and slightly exasperated huff escaping him at the sight of popped buttons. Jack thinks he looks good like that, hair obscenely ruffled, shirt a mess and a slowly fading blush coloring his chest, throat and ears. There are also those insane lashes and bright eyes and Jack hates all the things they are making him feel. Feeling his wits return he’s ready to get back at Rhys for that ‘Jackie’ and he’s already puffed out his chest as he takes a deep breath to start his tirade. Because come on people, Rhys is nothing but a baby fumbling in the darkness, a sexy dangerous baby but still, Jack has sooo much more experience over this insufferable kid. But he’s cut off mid-word with a shush, and Rhys presses a finger to his lips winking at Jack. No spoiling the moment then. Rhys is on the move again, fixing his shirt with a smug if slightly embarrassed smirk on his lips, he tosses the dirty towel at Jack, eww, and finally heads for the door. Wow, and here Jack thought him to be more of a ‘cuddles and hugs’ guy instead of curt ‘see ya’s and casual waves of a hand. 

-II-

Rhys slumps in the front seat of his car, forehead resting against the steering wheel. He’s previous bravado and nonchalance are gone, evaporating with every level the lift took him down. Sure it felt good, sinfully good, but he hates that desperation got the better of him. He didn’t realize he has started lusting after the other man since the sauce situation. His feelings were far less complicated when Jack was nothing but a hologram, floating about and tossing snarky comments. Or when he was a hero, larger than life and someone Rhys aspired to be. But it’s the living, breathing Jack, full of small and humongous flaws, with over bloated ego and occasional loneliness in his eyes who worms his way into Rhys’ heart. 

He makes a decision to not regret what trespassed between them today but also deems it unprofessional on his part, he doesn’t want Jack to think that the trust Rhys offers and for which he asks in return is rooted in his inability to keep it in his pants. Because it isn’t, Rhys knows it, and popping occasional boners only comes as an added bonus. If Jack will want to have Rhys for something more than a one stand kitchen rub off, he’ll have to come for it himself.  
And with his head cleared and jaws set he starts the engine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god you idiots stop being stubborn


	10. Hole in your face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on posting this chapter plus the next one together but then again... ill let the suspense do its work :^)

-Rhys-

A month passes, unnoticed and unimportant with Rhys running himself down with work. Not that he has much choice anyway. But he also transfers some of the work to Jack who’s now his appointed second in command and begrudgingly accepting his new responsibilities. All in all that night and morning after cleared some air between them and to everyone’s surprise Jack is behaving himself. Or to be more accurate, is a fraction less insufferable. They don’t talk about what happened and Rhys is grateful for that, his moment of weakness pushed to the back of his mind. What has him worried however, is that his mechanical arm seems to be malfunctioning occasionally and that’s something new. On his ride back home from Jack’s it suddenly goes limp and he has to slam the brakes barely keeping control of the car. Once he regains his cool, he slowly drives off, careful this time. 

It has already happened twice this month and he’s currently sat in the med bay, swinging his dangling feet and waiting for the technicians to finish their sweep. They end up needing to replace the small eridium shrapnel, securely encased into conductive metal, which powers up his arm. His new echo-eye can feed on the energy generated by his brain but powering something this large needs an external power source. 

Rhys flexes his fingers and eventually chalks it up to defective eridium sample. Regardless, he asks the staff to pass the results to the prosthetics department. It’s been eight years and sometimes they are still struggling with figuring out some of the Old Atlas’ tech. One thing is sure though, eridium runs this world.

-II-

Annual board meeting is just around the corner, held as always in the capital, and Rhys’ speeding up the empty highway, empty Pandoran landscape on either side of his car. Most people here commute by trains, a trusted way to get from one city to another but Rhys enjoys those moments of peace when he’s nothing but a speck cutting through the desert and not one of the most powerful men on this planet. And so the road is dusty, rarely used and reminding him of the first time he was down here, driving a stolen car, ten million dollars on Vaughn’s lap and sweaty palms on the steering wheel. Man, they were -children- then. Rhys chuckles. But history is a bitch and loves to repeat itself. A stray skag decides to commit suicide by literally throwing itself in front of the oncoming car. This time he loses control of the vehicle as it swerves wildly, the front of it crashing into a formation of rocks on the side of the road. 

Shitfuck. That pretty much sums up Rhys’ situation. The hood is completely mangled, communication is out as the impact seems to have severed the connection and he has a deep cut running across his forehead. Ah, and his mechanical arm makes some weird, scratchy noises like something was stuck in the joints. That’s just perfect.

Rhys stands over the crashed car, angrily pinching the bridge of his nose. Looks like he’s not gonna make it to the meeting if help doesn’t show up any soon. 

Hours trickle by and he’s so mad he didn’t refill his stash of emergency snacks after Jack raided them because he’s positively starving right now. He can’t be even sure a distress signal has been sent what with the car’s electronics off. And the crunching sound his arm has been making? Yeah, well, turned out to be that eridium piece, now ground nearly to a powder as it spills to the ground, burning his hand when he accidentally touches it, protective casing gone. At least his echo-eye is working but it’s not equipped with long range communication unlike his arm.

In the late evening a car breezes by and Rhys scrambles to his feet, frantically waving and shouting but he’s left with a mouthful of dust and teary eyes. He makes a quiet vow to later find out who this person is and have them hanged by their balls.

Wow, this couldn’t have gone worse.

Actually it could, and of course it does, night slowly creeping onto the horizon as he hears voices approaching. What bandits remained on Pandora, now most of them merrily calling themselves “The free Peepol”, seem to be on the prowl tonight. And he’s the only pray around here. 

He huddles behind a cliff, gun in his hand and adrenaline coursing through his veins. There’s three of them, scavengers by the looks of it. Rhys doesn’t hesitate, creeping up closer to make a quick work of the two closest to him guys. The third one gives him some troubles but soon enough Rhys is standing among three corpses, echo of the gunshots ringing in his ears. He figures that if no help came by now, none will come. Well, he’s left to his own devices and there’s no use sticking around here anyway. He’s not that far from Wysteria anyway, maybe a day or two on foot and he has survived Pandoran desert previously anyway. Though back then he had Vaughn and Jack with him, now all he has is a feeling of dread creeping up his spine. 

-II-

Morning finds him dead tired, shuffling his feet in what he hopes is the right direction. Hot white sun keeps mercilessly burning the barren land and Rhys can feel the skin on the tip of his nose starting to peel. He’s too engrossed into his task of picking at the dead skin a Psycho gets a jump on him before he can draw his gun, single precious bullet left in the chamber. He always knew Pandora was out to kill any unfortunate wanderers but years of luxury has made him grow soft around the edges. He curses as the weight of his attacker makes him topple, his ass painfully hitting the ground. Overall it would have been easier if he didn’t have a dead weight swinging limply at his side but at least his useless arm miraculously gets between him and the psycho’s knife, blade bouncing harmlessly off of the metal. A distance roar of engines catches both of them surprised, thankfully Rhys is the first one to regain his cool, finally getting a clear shot, as he jams the barrel of his gun right under this unlucky motherfucker’s jaw and blows his brains out. There’s a fountain of blood, brains and bone splattering his face, and Rhys tries to free himself from under the dead body. Except something is really painfully digging into his side. Really, really painfully. There’s the blade previously waved at him, snuggly stuck between his ribs and making him double over when he tries to move. But there’s another danger on the horizon and with curses untamed spilling from his lips, Rhys finally gets up, all covered in blood and gore, hunched from the crippling pain. The gun that’s trained on the incoming vehicle doesn’t waver. He may not have any bullets left but there’s steel and murder in his eyes.

-II-

Jack is idly thumbing through latest records of some bandit scum skulking around Wysteria, completely ignoring the rest of the board as they all wait for the guy running this shitshow. Rhys is uncharacteristically late but Jack figures it’s only to make the board all the more panicked at being left alone with him. But then the uncomfortable silence is broken when the door slams open, alarmed August with Yvette in tow heading straight for Jack.

And then all hell breaks loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah sorry, wish i wan't all buzzing with words and ideas so i could properly beta this work instead of just chucking it at ya'll


	11. Ego crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell how much i love Yvv? my god im so gay for her

-Jack-

Jack snaps when he’s roughly tugged by the collar of his shirt, finding himself with a faceful of snarling August.

“Woah, calm down there September.”

In the background he can hear Yvette unceremoniously kicking out the rest of the people from the room. He growls when he feels a gun digging into his side but there is no struggle, Jack more or less patiently waiting to first learn what the big deal is.

“Sit your ass down shit-stain and start spilling beans.” There’s a swift shove and he’s falling down, catching the chair in the last moment and steering himself so he securely lands on the seat.

“No idea what the fuss is all about.”

“Oh yeah? Then maybe you can tell us where Rhys is!?” This time it’s Yvette and she steps forward, anger in her eyes as she raises her leg and suddenly her high heeled foot slams into the edge of the chair Jack is sitting on, mere millimeters from his dick and he’s suddenly sweating. 

“Easy there, that may be insured but I still need it!”

“Last we heard from him he was at your place this morning.” Jack has to admit they have the bad cop/bad cop routine down to a tee and that makes him wonder when will the good cop finally arrive. It looks like there will be no good cops because August is already alerting security guards. Which means the situation is serious.

“All right.” He stands up when Yvette finally moves her foot, hands slightly raised in a protective gesture. “Mind telling me what is actually going on?”

“We’ve lost contact with Rhys two hours ago and the security can’t ping his car. Isn’t that fucking convenient mister second-in-command?” August has his gun trained on him, eyes narrowed as the rest of the security pours in. Shit that doesn’t sound right and something worries at the back of Jack’s consciousness. 

But the newly arrived guards instead of following their superior’s orders point their guns at August with a barked ‘lower your gun!’. Looks like the word has got out as to who runs this place now. 

It makes August hiss but he obediently drops from his stance, shooting Yvette a heavy look. Then the gun is promptly snatched from his hand and Jack idly checks the magazine as he lets the pregnant silence prolong.

“Now, we all are gonna calm down… “ he raises the gun, pointing it loosely into August’s direction as he squints his eye aligning the sights “... and then we’re going to find and rescue that dum dum.” He finish triumphantly as he actually -strikes a pose-. This time it’s -his- sneaker that rests against the edge of the chair, gun raised and he pretends to be blowing away the smoke from the barrel as he shoots those two idiots a charming smile.

There’s a collective release of breaths and they all are on the move, August directed to get the rest of the security on their feet as Jack and Yvette rush towards the comm center where they are supposed to meet Vogue. 

-II-

Something clenches in Jack’s chest as they all are watching a tracking signal move across the map of Pandora and when it suddenly extinguishes he can feel a drop in his stomach. And then the lights go out, every system shutting down with a power outage, before, nearly a minute later, the emergency power sources kick in. This just keeps getting better and better, Jack grumbles under his breath. It’s only thanks to the comm connection established between Rhys and the little shrimp’s echo-comm that they can even track anything. Although, as one of the comm technicians explains nervously, it’s only an approximate position. Down to a hundred kilometers. And that’s not to tell what happened after the connection broke off. Jack is so fucking pissed he yells at the trembling technician and when that doesn’t get him the answer he wants to hear, he shoots the guy. All this achieves is Yvette dragging him out of the room. 

Eventually they settle on some sort of a plan and sadly it doesn’t involve moonshots. Or whatever ground-to-ground equivalents of moonshots Atlas is capable of. Eight teams are designated to spread out in a fan formation, keeping within visual distance and they will just follow the most likely path Rhys might have taken. 

Jack insists he has to go, armed with a high-end Atlas sniping rifle and so eventually August agrees to take him but demands that Jack has to keep close to him so he doesn’t try anything ‘funny’. Like hell. 

They roll out an hour later, everybody strapped in and armed to the teeth. Ask Jack and he will tell you that the teams are moving way too slow, carefully sweeping the perimeter and it’s way, waaaay past midnight that a messages comes through that they found the car. But still no Rhys. He investigates the crash site with August, idly kicking one of the corpses.

“Think there was more of them than just those three?” 

“Hard to say September, your people trampled all over the place and I can’t make heads or tails of what has happened here.”

“There was a fight…”

“No shit genius.” Something draws Jack’s attention, and he crouches down. There are tiny pieces of eridium scattered in one place, his personal shield alerting him of the possible radiation. 

“Sir? Shall we call for the base to send halogens and infra red bots?” One of August’s men looks at him with a quizzical expression as Jack gets up, wiping his hands against the material of his coat. “Or do we blindly ride on?”

Everything in Jack is screaming to keep moving but his gung-ho attitude needs to simmer down as he takes in all the possibilities. Rhys could be within walking distance, after all he’s on foot and apparently armed. But then again, he also might have been taken if there were more people involved into this fight. And he can’t decide that until he can figure out what has happened exactly.

“Send the word. And get the people from ballistics too, there was a gunfight here apparently.”

Or you know, he could just dash into the unknown and scream his throat raw. That also sounds appealing right now. 

An unfamiliar hand rests on his shoulder and Jack wants to bash it’s owner’s face in. Even when it turns out to be August. All the more when it turns out to be August.

“We’ll move out first thing in the morning.” He lets out a hissed breath and relaxes fingers curled into a fist. Perhaps next time. The hand is gone.

Morning comes and goes and the sun has already climbed fairly high before they are ready to move, last minute results of the analysis coming in. Seems like it was only Rhys and these three dead morons. They also more or less estimate the optimal route Rhys must have chosen. An hour later and he hears the blessed ‘we’ve got a visual sir’. God fucking finally. He’s currently sat in an open back of a jeep and as soon as the words sound, he jumps to his feet, leaning against the back of the front cabin, eye glued to the scope of his sniper rifle. 

There he is, struggling to free himself from a psycho, unmistakable flailing that only Rhys can pull off. Jack tries to get a clear shot but it’s not easy with the moving car and once he thinks he finally, finally got it, his vision is suddenly obscured. Raising his head he glares at August who’s keeping his palm pressed to the front of the scope and just menacingly shakes his head at Jack. Oh come ON, they still don’t trust him after he gave up on his beauty sleepy to go save the princess? He only makes a face at the other man. But they are almost there, the driver stepping hard on the brakes and Jack is already halfway out of the car, crossing the distance between him and Rhys as fast as he can without actually running. Because running isn’t cool. Totally.

Whatever cheeky quip he had prepared dies on his lips as he watches Rhys smeared in blood and gore, not his thankfully, but the other man drops his weapon with a relieved sigh and then, as in slow motion, he reaches to his side and his hand comes away bloodied and his face is ashen and… and Jack actually sprints to try and catch him before he tumbles to the ground.

“Shit, fuck, pumpkin…” the rest of the team gathers around them.

“No, I’m...I’m fine just ... “ Rhys shivers when Jack tries to move him “... I just need to like… pass out for a bit... k?”

“Yeah, kiddo, go on... we gotcha.” He can feel August burning holes in his back.

-II-

When he wakes up the light is unbearably bright and he has to squint. He’s not alone and it turns out Yvette is sat by his bed, idly scrolling through some data on her pad.

“Hi…”

“Oh, hi. You just missed Vaughn, I had to have him forcefully removed and sent back home to get some sleep.”

“...cute.”

“Bet ya.” And then she’s leaning over, giving him a comforting hug and he knows she cares despite her sometimes abrasive personality.

“Yvette… pain. I’m hurting all over...please.”

“Oh quit your bitchin. You just got stabbed, not a big deal.”

“Yvette… I got STABBED… this is the biggest deal!” And then he throws a tantrum until someone from the med stuff gets him stronger painkillers and he’s blissfully drifting off into sweet nothingness, dumb smile splayed on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll get the last two chapters out tomorrow and we're good kids :^)


	12. Principles of validation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's how rl men talk i have it on good account

-Rhys-

He’s finally out, itching to get back on his feet, too cooped up to spend even one more night amidst the hospital’s sterile white walls. Vaughn gives him a ride back home, chatty as always and obviously glad to have Rhys back. He even gives him something sweet to cheer him up a small box awkwardly tucked under his arm as he fumbles with the keys. So yeah, they took his mechanical arm for inspection and refused to supply a replacement, about which he’s still slightly grumpy. He suspects Yvette has had something to do with it, a ploy to get him to rest a little bit more. Not that he can really be angry with her. 

He finds a pile of dirty cups in the sink, a dead indicator of Jack’s presence in his apartment. Which is surprising because the other man didn’t bother to show his dumb mug around for the entirety of Rhys’ recuperation. He chalks it up to Jack’s weird possessive habits and grabbing a glass of water, he slumps down on his armchair, finally surrounded by blissful darkness and quietness. 

Rhys must have dozed off at some point because a loud crashing noise wakes him up with a start. Curiously, he investigates, locating the noise to be coming from the kitchen and he pops his head in, immediately ducking when an unidentified piece of crockery flies by his head and then shatters to pieces as it hits the opposite wall. 

“Wow. Bad day?”

Jack is as surprised to see him as he is, caught red handed with a cup fished out of the sink and ready to throw. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I -live- here.” Blood in Rhys’ veins instantly begins to boil. My god, the nerve of this man. “And what are -you- doing here?”

“...” He receives a glare from a very cross Jack “...lotsa things on my mind…”

Okay, he can work with that, as fluent as he is in translating Jack to human language, he’s also proficient in speaking it. A solid B2. And so he nonchalantly opens the nearby drawer, grabbing a plate into his only hand. 

“OKAY.” The plate fractures as it is slammed against the floor. “Talk to me.” He doesn’t need to convince Jack to join in on wreaking havoc.

“ANGRY.” There the first mug flies by. “WORRIED” And the second one. “MAD” Oh this one Rhys actually liked. “ANNOYED”

“WHY?” Another plate goes flying and Rhys doesn’t really mind, he’s gonna get himself some brand new ones, the perks of being stupid rich.

“YOU!” Oh… so that’s Jack for ‘I care about you”, he doesn’t mind that either.

“I’m FINE” And he stresses that by smashing the last two remaining plates.

“...” This time the cup just sort of tumbles to the ground and Jack slumps with a defeated look on his face. Rhys knows what he would do if he was having this conversation with Vaughn. Or Yvette, or Sasha. Hell, even Fiona, they are his friends. But that’s Jack and he’s as prone to mood sways as he is to violence. Scratch that, he’s just gonna go with his gut feeling, and he kicks one of the busy r00m3as out of the way as he quickly makes his way to the other man, careful of the broken bits and pieces.

Jack is roughly pulled into a hug, a very sincere but one armed hug, and Rhys has to wonder whether he’s gonna end up being kicked in the shin or punched in the throat. Both probably.

But to his surprise the other man leans into the touch, arms coming up to wrap around Rhys’ waist and they just stay like that for a while. It’s raw and intimate and he can feel Jack tucking his face into the crook of his neck, similarly as he had done the last time they were this close. Except this time it’s everything -that- wasn’t. Back then it was selfish, a convenient warm body and breaths mingling, uneven silence hanging between them. This time Rhys keeps quietly murmuring that he really is -fine- and they breath in unison as the tension slowly lifts.

Jack is somewhat reluctant to let go of him and Rhys has to pry his hands away, quiet chuckle bubbling in his chest.

“Come on man, you ain’t the hugging type anyway…”

“Rhysie… pumpkin… you are so, so, -so- wrong. Just look at these guns babe.” Jack flexes and Rhys experiences the most intense second-hand embarrassment. “They were -made- for hugging.”

Things with Jack are never easy or simple, but somehow, they are never awkward either, and Rhys thinks he actually could let Jack stay in his life for the long haul. For now he lets him stay long enough that they finish off Vaughn’s gift, fighting for the last piece.

Jack doesn’t overstay his welcome, for once in his life, and Rhys could kiss him he’s so grateful. He shows up again in the morning, a new cup in his hand, undoubtedly grabbed from his own kitchen, and per Rhys’ request, brews three coffees.

-II-

Vaughn is shooting him a very sceptical look, clearly torn between asking why he and Rhys are having their coffee straight out of bowls while Jack is ominously sipping his from a regular cup, checking the salt content in his and asking how Rhys’ feeling. With a sigh he goes for the last one.

“...’m good, happy to be off the meds bro.”

“Wicked, see, this calls for a night out to celebrate your not dying!”

Which is immediately met with Jack clasping and rubbing his hands with a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Sometimes Rhys could swear he can see horns protruding from this moron’s head.

“All right little buff buddy, you book us a place I’m gonna get booze and hookers!”

“...ermm… you’re not really invited.” Rhys has to give it to his best friend, he tried. And now he’s looking to Rhys for help and so he just shakes his head at Jack, arm crossed awkwardly over his chest.

“Oh come on people, I bet you don’t even know -how- to properly party. You need me there!” There’s the infamous stubbornness. 

“I’ll have you know we used to be real party animals you dickwad.” Rhys hisses and then nearly yelps when Jack swiftly moves behind him, forcefully grabbing his wrist and then waving his arm, as well as his own, now sticking from behind Rhys in place where his mechanical arm would usually be.

“Uh no, look at me, I’m baby Rhysie, please give me some warm milk to suckle on I’ll show you how to party.” Wow, that’s one hell of a bad impression. “I’ve got a stick stuck so far up my butt it’s coming outta my nose.” Jack’s voice is annoyingly high-pitched and Rhys tries to step on his foot very hard but he misses. “I’m afraid to take my best pal Jack with me because I’m only going to make a fool of myself!” And on top of that Vaughn is positively choking with laughter while trying to keep a straight face. Oh that double-crossing viper, Rhys regrets standing by him. Ever. He suspects Vaughn is being partial to Jack’s idea if only because there was no salt in his coffee. Rhys should have put it there himself.

“Uhh… all right, all right. But no hookers.” It’s met with a disappointed ‘aww’ but eventually Jack releases him.

“Okay, I’ll arrange for someone to pick you up tonight… say, twenty-oh?” They nod in unison.

Rhys wants to get back at Jack for his previous clowning and so he takes one last jab at him before he leaves.

“Don’t forget your ID babyface, there’s gonna be adult stuff where we’re going!” Well, it’s true, among them, Jack looks (and acts) the youngest.

“You are just jealous of my flawless complexion.”

“Nice contrast with that shitty personality of yours!” Without any retort Jack stomps out with his nose pointing at the ceiling.

Rhys can see Vaughn disapprovingly shake his head and he just shoots him a semi-apologetic shrug. 

-II-

“Rhys?”

The call caught him halfway through getting himself dressed, slightly tangled into his shirt as he’s trying to get used to the new arm.

“Oh, hi Fiona, what’s up? Gonna see you today?”

“Sorry, I won’t make it. Listen, I’m just calling to check in on you.”

“Yeah…” He’s touched by the concern everybody is showing but it’s starting to be slightly annoying.

“Rhys… word has got out out here… about Jack.”

“Well, yeah, I imagine. And? What news you got for me?”

“-I- trust you. But Pandora isn’t the most forgiving place. Nor is it quick to forget. And keep in mind that there is only so far Atlas can reach. There might be a storm brewing on the horizon. I can’t help you this time Rhys.”

“Yeah… I know. And it’s okay, we’re ready.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And Fi…”

“ ‘sup?”

“Bring me back something from wherever you are now.”

“Forget it.” And with that she hangs up, Rhys left with unpleasant thoughts nagging at the back of his head. Well, he’ll have to deal with them some other day as his comm blinks again to let him know that the ride’s here.

-II-

The drinks are on him. Of course.

All in all he’s quite pleased that the gang is more or less accepting of Jack’s presence, both Sasha and August are full of smarmy comments, born and raised with hate for hyperion ingrained into them but they are not afraid. They didn’t spend most of their lives sucking up to the guy in question anyway. Unlike Vaughn and Yvette who both find it hard to get along with him on private grounds. Nothing that can’t be fixed with a little bit of alcohol. Actually more than a little bit. Way, waaay more. 

“Hey… you good there big guy?” He’s at the bar, getting another round for everybody and maybe, just maybe looking for a breather when Sasha pops by his elbow.

“Yeah, still kinda sore…”

“Not what I meant, I’m asking about mr. sunshine and rainbows over there.” She points with her thumb towards their merry group where Jack is currently pouring some unidentified liquor down Vaughn’s throat while August and Yvette keep cheering.

“I’m working on it, okay? There is -some- progress and given that he’s been here for at least an hour and no heads have rolled, I’d say it’s impressive.” Rhys shoots here a quirky grin which then he struggles to maintain as her next words come.

“I only hope he’ll be good to go when the time comes.” His arm wraps around her shoulder to give a little squeeze.

“Come on Sash, no need to worry now, I’ve got this.”

When they get back to their table Jack is sporting a bruise on his cheek and the only answer he gets is that he was acting very un-gentleman like. Not that it surprises anyone. 

They manage to wrap up the party before anymore conflicts arise, a very sour August dragged home by Sasha, and he’s left with passed out Yvv, Vaughn trying to threaten completely smashed Jack who’s giving him a finger and his own double vision. It’s time to go and he gets the staff to get them all a ride home.

It’s hard to say if it’s him who's dragging Jack or if Jack is dragging him but what counts is the four unstable legs between them that are taking them to the lift and then up to Rhys’ apartment. He drops his companion somewhere in the hall and makes his way to his home office to flop face down on his new bed, head spinning as he tries to lazily kick his shoes off.

“Rhyyysss… Rhysieee babyy…” and there is Jack, looming in the doorway and happily if barely hanging onto the doorway. 

“Oh get fucked you asshole.” 

“Come onnnn… did I ever tell you you are my favourite boy?” There are two staggering steps taken towards him and he just shoots a warning glare over his shoulder. My god, when will he ever get a moment of peace and quiet. 

“You’re asking before or after you stabbed me in the back?” The side of the bed dips when a considerable weight settles in on it. Oh no no, not this again, he’s not gonna budge, no more sleeping on the couch.

“Touche. Don’t be like that, I’m sorry you know…” Even when sober Jack could not make these words sound sincere.

“Yeah, you know, whatever just let me sleep.” Rhys can barely keep his eyes open and in all honesty, he couldn’t give a damn about what Jack is up to as long as he doesn’t have to move.

-II-

He wakes up with a start, unpleasant feeling of someone staring at him creeping up his spine. And he’s not wrong as he quickly locates two mismatched eyes intently fixed on his face.

“Stop being creepy.” No reaction. “Did you sleep here?”

“Might have.” Jack is shooting him a very pleased smirk, clearly all giddy from seeing the disturbed look on Rhys’ face.

“Okay, listen, here’s the thing, I need like… ten more minutes and when I wake up again you’re gonna be gone, okay?”

He receives a thumb up and with a satisfied sigh, goes back to his nap.

When he finally opens his eyes again, an hour maybe two later, he’s blissfully alone in the room. But not in the apartment and he eventually finds Jack nursing a glass of water, fresh out of the shower and wearing, of course, Rhys’ slacks and shirt. He’s just… gonna let Jack keep those too. They spend the rest of the day mindlessly staring at whatever’s on TV, each dealing with a hangover in his own way.

“You know…” it’s late afternoon and Jack seems to be dozing off when Rhys’ words jerk him awake.

“...hnn?”

“I could get used to it. And by it I mean you not being such a jackass all the time.”

“Mmm. You’re not so bad yourself pumpkin. For a wannabe fanboy that is.” That earns him a pillow half-heartedly thrown at his face.

Since morning they only fought twice, over the TV controller and then over the best spot on the couch so today is shaping to be a good day all things considered. Currently they are sat side by side and Rhys feels the need to gain control over a slightly larger portion of the sofa because Jack keeps inching closer and closer and that is never a good thing. So he raises his arms to rest his elbows against the back of the couch and assert some more private space for himself. Coincidentally Jack happens to get the same idea and the end up elbowing each other, third fight breaking out.

“Nu-uh kiddo, get those boney twigs out of my face.” Rhys furiously keeps flailing his arm about in order to push the other man away. “What did I tell you, hmm?” Yeah what did Jack tell him? “I was built for -this-!” There is a triumphant note to the other’s voice and Rhys, begrudgingly ends up with Jack’s arm resting over his shoulders, slumped lower on the couch and familiar heat radiating against his side. He huffs crossing his arms over his chest. Not what he was aiming for but all in all it feels nice. All his sulking earns him an affectionate ruffle, hair already a mess now turning into a real bird’s nest. Which also feels surprisingly nice. 

For lack of anything better to do he’s been doing a lot of thinking today. Mostly about Jack being a sore thorn in his side. And how he’s lately become a little bit less sore. A somewhat softer, mellower side to the ruthless man he used to look up to began to show up and Rhys nurtures it like the greatest treasure. First he wanted to follow in his footsteps, and then , once he get to know him a little better, he feared the malicious AI. Hated it. And to this day Rhys genuinely hates this asshole. But he has also grown to like the man, for all the small and human things he does and for the way he gets under Rhys’ skin. He likes the guy but despises the attitude he wears like a mask. But that was to be expected, he knew what he was getting himself into when he plugged the drive into the port a couple months ago. But right now he doesn’t know what he’s gonna get himself into with the next question already forming on his lips. Worth a shot anyway.

“Jack… how do you feel about punching me in the face?”

“Rather positive. Even delighted. Would do that again. Why?”

“Okay, alright, yeah, that’s good.” Rhys rambles and then cranes his neck, metal fingers splayed over Jack’s cheek and he’s moving in for the kill which turns out to be a kiss, and he’s kinda hoping for that punch but also kinda not.

It doesn’t come, and after the initial surprise wears off and Rhys is about to pull back, Jack moves, lips brushing and he can feel that asshole smirking against his own lips. He snarls but there is a hand tangled loosely into his hair that’s keeping him from moving away and then he’s being kissed back and that’s totally the best.

“Punching is all fun and games but I think I like that better pumpkin.” It’s murmured against his lips and Rhys chuckles because Jack is being ridiculous and that’s all he can really do when Jack slips his hand under his shirt.   
The kiss finally breaks and he leans his head against Jack’s arm, still slumped over his shoulders. He runs his hands through his messy hair and eventually looks up to meet green and blue eyes. He’s doing the staring thing again and Rhys isn’t sure how it’s making him feel. Disturbed for the most part and so he wrinkles his nose and furrows his brows.

“ ‘sup with the sour face? Old Jack ain’t half a bad kisser.” 

“No, it’s just… “ He’s not really sure what he’s trying to say here “...you know, you haven’t really convinced me as to that the first time.” And he cracks a toothy smirk.

“Feisty.” Jack never would turn down a challenge, once you know it, it’s stupidly easy to manipulate him. And then Jack leans in and his lips again brush over his. It’s surprisingly chaste but the other man is clearly putting his whole heart and soul into this kiss, rough lips leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. Rhys hums and gently nibbles at his lower lip. He figures this little make-out session is also them making -up- for the last time. 

“You know, I would never have imagined that you’d be playing it by the book.” Because Jack never does anything by the book. Unless the book is his autobiography.

“ ...‘ve been doing a lot of that imagining, huh?” Oops, busted.

“Might have.”

Months of pent up frustration make something inside of Rhys -scream- that he should move, grab, bite and get what he wants. But he needs to know Jack is on the same page. It’s easier when they fight because then at least then he knows for sure what this asshole is up to.

“Okay kiddo, we were doing so well and then you started to do that stupid thing with your head. You know which one. The -thinking- thing. I ain’t gonna force you pumpkin so you just sit here and keep figuring whatever you are trying to figure out and I’ll be over there. Also thinking. About ugly things. Like mmm… vault hunters. Or my dear grandma. Whatever helps. Okay?”

And then Jack is pulling away, breaking from his orbit and Rhys misses his warmth somewhat fierce. Man he fucked up. Good job Rhys.

-II-

Jack pretends not to be watching the kid from the corner of his eye, even as he sighs and heads for the small balcony to grab a smoke. And Rhys usually does that only when he’s beating himself over something. He shifts with a grunt, adjusting the straining material of his pants. Rhys is a good and confident man most of the time but when he stops to think Jack wants to smack him on the head. He wants to smack himself too because he’s crippled by Rhys’ warning not to do anything stupid. And while he doesn’t want to admit this even to himself, if he fucks whatever it is that’s between them, there’s not much left for him but retracting to his previous self. And he knows from Helios’ database that it ain’t pretty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case anyone was looking for me i'll be quietly fuming and trying to figure out how to fix this mess. I've been stumped for most part of the day after i've written the 'kiss' part and those asshols just suddenly stopped cooperating.  
>  idk what to do rly  
> way to go me, getting blocked when there's only 2 chapters left and everything is laid out plain a s a frickin day way to go me


	13. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this technically should be a part of the previous chapter but eh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so imagine you wake up with a cryptid message on your phone that says 'you can mine my data anytine'  
> and apparently its a message from your half asleep dead tired self from last night to your awake self. and -apparently- it is supposed to be the solution to your sudden writing block  
> you then realize your sleepy self posseses the best problem solving skills

-Rhys-

The evening gust takes the smoke from his cigaret with it as Rhys breathes out slowly. He’s grumpy about his moment of weakness, Jack is the last person he wanted to see him in this state, when hesitation takes over and his own brain tries to screw him over. 

Locking the balcony door behind him, he marches back to the couch, burning stare fixed onto him.

“You good kiddo?”

“Mhm, just overthinking. Years in data mining and analysis will do that to you.”

“You can mine -my- data anytime kid.” Lewd. But it also is casual enough that it puts him at ease, chuckle pushing past his lips.

“Oh screw you Jack.” He stops his pacing to stand before the other man, hand on his hip and one eyebrow cocked. “Actually -screw you-. And your stupid face.” He knows what he wants and he feels what he needs and so he’s leaning over him, hands moving to rest against the back of the sofa either side of Jack’s head. “You want this just as much as I do asshole.”

“Damn well I do.”

“So what’s with the coy game?”

“You wouldn’t like me not playing it by the book kiddo.” Jack is shooting him a crooked grin, picking up on what Rhys is trying to say. He’s just… a little bit uneasy when Jack acts gently. That’s an unknown territory treading through which feels like wading through quicksands. If time allows, there will be the right moment for vulnerability further down the road.

“Oh yeah? Try me, if you think you can...” He’s once again challenging the other man and Jack is already falling into their routine of snarls, half veiled threats and blunt flirting.

“I’m gonna enjoy breaking you…” Whatever snarky remark was there to follow, it’s stifled when Rhys finally, finally mashes their lips together. He growls when he’s tugged down and in response he shoves the other man down, flat on his back as he crawls over him and settles on top of him. 

He’s got him pinned down, mechanical fingers wrapped around a strong wrist as their free hands bump into each other, nails dragged over sensitive skins to raise welts of reddened skin. 

Jack is hot. Literally and figuratively and he lets an obscene moan when Rhys bites down on his lip hard enough to leave it swollen and bruised. He struggles with his shirt. Jack’s shirt, but also originally his and eventually releases his wrist from the hold he had on him to let the other man wiggle free from the shirt. In the meantime he sits back, knees pressed to Jack’s sides and he cants his hips forward, head tilted to his side and eyes half closed as he works on unbuttoning his own shirt. Not a dress shirt this time, simple flannel, sliding softly against his skin as he shrugs it down the length of his arms, material caught for a moment in the mechanical joint. He knows he looks good like that, and he feels what it does to the other man as he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back and out of his eyes. His burning eyes skim over the figure underneath him, bright eyes watching his every move, a constellation of freckles scattered over smooth skin and amongst dark coarse hairs covering his chest and forearms. He already knew it would be there, having seen this body before it’s current occupant moved in. His eyebrows quirk at the sight of the first signs of pudge starting to build up around Jack’s midsection.

“Wow, you really let yourself go there Jack.” That earns him a squeeze to his hip and a small growl.

“We can’t all be all bones and no definition like some scrawny skag you are. How come your healthy diet of cereals and cakes doesn’t take a toll on you?” 

“Stress and worry are great for burning off any extra calories.” That’s only half true but he doesn’t bother elaborating, running his hands over Jack’s front as he leans back down and brushes his lips to the other’s ear.

“I like that.” This time it’s him who’s giving a squeeze to Jack’s soft sides and he follows his statement with a light bite to the shell of his ear.

It’s met with a low growl and Rhys supposes he could fall in love with that sound. Jack bolts and makes them tumble over, gaining upper hand over the other man as he holds Rhys down, rolling his hips to grind against him.

Rhys is going to have to wear something more covering tomorrow because right now Jack busies himself with littering his chest and throat in nips, small bruises already forming up. There is a hand against his throat pinning him down and Rhys doesn’t protest, arching his back to aid Jack as the latter is trying to tug his pants down. 

“How does it feel kiddo?” Tight grip starts working him up, contact broken for a moment so Jack can run his fingertips over Rhys’ lips and then push between them, fingers coming back dampened with his spit and he’s back to giving rough tugs and squeezes. Rhys’ windpipe is tightly constricted and he has to keep sucking in shallow breaths every time he gets the chance.

How does it feel? To have Jack’s attention all to himself? To have him try his damndest to please Rhys and feel him respond eagerly to what Rhys gives him?

“Ama...ahh.. amazeballs...” That gets a chuckle out of the other man and Rhys tangles his hand into Jack’s messed up hair, dragging him closer for a heated kiss as he hooks one leg over his thigh and slips his flesh hand down the back of his pants. They curl into each other, Jack bowed over him as Rhys shamelessly gropes his ass. 

Sweat builds up on his brow and he tries to reach down the front of Jack’s slacks, to give as much as he’s taking but Jack stops just to slap his hand away, the angle too awkward for Rhys to do any real damage anyway.

“Damn, Rhysie, you’re looking damn good like that. Just… let me have this…” Alright, Rhys is absolutely fine with how this is shaping but he’s not one to give into so easily nor is he above putting on a little show just to see how far he can get the other man without touching him. His flesh hand tangles into his damp hair as he angles his head to even further expose his bruised neck, metal fingers dragged down his cheek before his pinky skims over the corner of his lips, tongue darting to run along the artificial digit, smooth and coppery in taste like blood but also nothing like it. Rhys is doing his best, shooting filthy, half-lidded glances.

“Jack…” that’s by far the lewdest sound that has ever escaped his lips and he gives himself a mental pat on the back for the reaction it gets him.

“F-fuck.” Jack is completely swayed by the performance he’s putting on, eyes wide and trying to swallow the image before him and he’s stroking Rhys as if he was stroking himself, eagerness growing proportionally to his own arousal. Chest heaving he’s rapidly approaching his release, muscles wound up tightly and there is a soft moan announcing it. 

He slumps down, spent and sighing and with his ears ringing as he gives Jack a half-hearted pat. Good boy.

“Fuck, kiddo, you really are something else.” He cracks one eye open and then cracks a grin on top of that, lazily playing with a longer strand of Jack’s hair, blown pupils taking in the view and Rhys basks for a few seconds in Jack’s uncertainty as to what follows next. Well in theory, he totally could leave the other man hanging there, and he lets Jack process this option as he keeps staying motionless. But could he really?

“Jack…” His voice is rough and sounds like liquid sex and he can see it shooting straight down to Jack’s dick. “... turn around.” Jack follows immediately like no other command he has ever followed in his life, sat with his back to Rhys, one leg curled underneath him, the other loosely hanging off of the edge of the couch. 

He takes a second to run his crumpled shirt over his front and then lazily drapes himself over Jack’s back. It’s payback time and he scatters stinging bites over freckled shoulders, hands running over equally freckled chest, brushing up to Jack’s throat to possessively wrap around it. His grip isn’t aimed at cutting off the airflow, just a reminder that he -could- and -would- do it if he felt like it. Jack shivers in his arms and Rhys rests his cheek against the side of his head.

“Easy there…” his words may be soft but the hand that sneaks without any further foreplay between Jack’s thighs isn’t, rough and calloused from the gun and the pen and the punches. They arch together when Jack arches and they sway together when Rhys shifts to move closer. It’s good, everything he wanted and expected. Even more than that because Jack on top being obscenely loud, just like he suspected he’d be, is also shamelessly needy and Rhys loves every second of it, the other man rocking in his arms and unabashedly letting half broken words and demands spill from his lips. He doesn’t mind replying with his own filth, seeped straight into Jack’s ear.

“My my Jackie, you’re really easy to play with …’ve been craving this for a long time?” To someone from the outside, it could almost look like a pity jerk-off, a little reward for Jack for getting Rhys so dutifully off, except the way he kisses his freckled back and keeps his arm protectively wrapped around him, it’s enough for Jack to know that this is about everything else but pity.

“You’ve… no...no idea.”

Frankly, it’s like every other conversation they ever had, a back-and-forth of snarky remarks and the mellow tussle for dominance. 

Except in this case he has a winning card at his disposal and he doesn’t even consider -not- playing dirty, amidst kisses and bites, he moves closer to the port located at the nape of his neck, nibbling along the hem where skin meets hard metal and he feels Jack fall apart in his arms. Again, it takes the slightest of touches, tongue flicking over the open center of the port for Jack to cave in, strangled moan cutting through the air and he comes, bracing his hands against the couch, head hanging low and he's panting frantically.

Rhys pulls back, idly noting that he should probably get himself a new, -clean- couch, although he may keep this one for sentimental value. He props his back against the armrest, his pants pulled back on and he lazily stretches his legs, calves now kicked over Jack’s lap. Who in return sits slumped against the back of the couch, pants still bundled around his thighs and he keeps one palm pressed over his eyes.

Eventually he drags it down his face and shoots Rhys a somewhat dumb and blank stare. In return he gets a quirk of a thick eyebrow and an unspoken question behind a crooked smirk.

It’s answered with a thumbs up and Rhys runs his hand through his hair, eyes crinkling in the corners with a half-smile that’s threatening to turn full.

-II-

Despite Rhys’ protests and threats he still takes the master bedroom, shutting the door into his face. Thankfully he doesn’t have to deal with the grump in the morning as he’s off and back to work. Technically, he too should be, but one more day won’t make any difference and he just gets his PA on the comm to issue a few instructions. With nothing better to do, he sets his eyes on one last door he hasn’t opened yet in Rhys’ apartment. He wonders how mad would the other man be if he were to peek inside given his fairly lenient attitude towards Jack’s misbehaving.


	14. What makes a hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are interested, here's a playlist that's been with me for the whole ride. https://open.spotify.com/user/1191054646/playlist/4qTL48m5pRVAHapkqLK35j

-Jack-

He’s quick to figure out that the door is quite securely locked. Which in all honesty is surprising given that so far, Rhys has been giving him access to virtually anything. Atlas’ top secret files have always been available to him at his every whim. As have been Rhys’ small and personal secrets, the other man always truthful to the point that it sometimes could sting. And Jack guesses it’s his way of worming himself into Jack’s good graces to earn his trust. Not that he particularly minds, being it’s recipient and all but he also thinks it’s a little bit stupid. Utterly stupid in fact. Then again, Rhys doesn’t go around telling everybody his secrets and that also makes Jack feel kinda special. Not that he wasn’t special in the first place. Still, doesn’t change the fact that the kid can sometimes be blindly trusting. It’s touching really, except it isn’t and only makes Jack feel somewhat guilty for not returning the favor. And that’s not very Handsome Jack of him.

It doesn’t take him long to position himself on the floor by the door, a data pad hooked into the key port. It also doesn’t take Rhys long to find out what he’s up to, comm frantically buzzing until he finally decides to answer the call.

“Jack…” There’s a warning to Rhys’ voice and by now Jack knows that he means business. But Rhys is in his office and Jack is here so he pays it little mind.

“ ...‘sup cupcake. Calling in to check in on your best fuck buddy?” Nonchalance is the key to setting Rhys off.

“I know you’re trying to fumble with the locks.” He can almost see Rhys pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “What are you up to?”

If Rhys has the security alerts streamed directly to his feed, and it looks like he does, then the place must be more valuable than Jack originally thought. Which only triples his curiosity.

“Just poking my nose where it doesn’t belong. What are you hiding here pumpkin?”

“Nothing… really. Just confidential data I don’t want leaking out.”

“Isn’t it then something you should have shown me by now? What with you trying to prove how trustworthy you can be, eh?” 

“I…” he knows he’s playing dirty but it worked once before and as he keeps Rhys occupied, his fingers skim over the controls and he feeds the security system one of his hacking programs. Tweaked to work against Atlas’ securities. You know. Just in case. “... Jack, not everything is a puzzle waiting for you to solve.”

“Damn yeah it is. So what is it cupcake? Gonna tell me before or after I get those door open?” 

“Jack no”

“Jack yes baby. I’m going in.” By now he’s mostly doing this out of spite, not that he’s not curious but Rhys seems to be trying to guard his secret so hard he just -have to- know what it is.

“Come on tell me. You keeping some weird kinky sex toys in there? Should have known you’d be into that kinda stuff, it’s always the quiet guys.” And now he can -hear- Rhys rolling his eyes.

“Jack…” The light on the door flashes red and he curses under his breath.

“No no, don’t tell me, I’ve got this. A shrine. Dedicated to me. You know how some people keep fap folders, you’ve got yourself a whole fap room. A fap-shrine. Once a fanboy always a fanboy.”

“Eww you’re disgusting.” He tries another program but it also yields no results.

“Didn’t seem to mind that last night, eh babe?” 

“Uhh… why today? Of all the other occasions, why now?”

“Bored.”

“Couldn’t you wait a couple months? I’d let you in sooner or later.”

“Nah, I’m going to seize my chance now since I know that the memory of how much of a good lay I am is still fresh in your mind. Hoping it’s gonna prevent you from getting rid of me!” Best. Strategy. Ever.

“...” When Rhys speaks again his voice is raw and he sounds suddenly older and more drained than Jack has ever heard him“ ...Jack, I’ve made my choices. Don’t make me regret them….” And with that the security code pops up on his comm and Rhys cuts the connection.

-II-

What he finds inside is a narrow room, on one side filled bottom to top with simple boxes containing data pads and sticks. Mostly, Jack is disappointed, recognizing labels on variety of boxes as names of projects he already knows about. A few random peeks inside don’t reveal anything new so eventually, he seats himself in front of a compact screen, placed atop a small table and he idly scrolls through whatever it is currently displaying. Which happen to be simple med files, Jack pays them little mind until something catches his eye.

-II-

The sun has already set, Rhys apartment filled with darkness and Jack has to squint his eyes when the place’s rightful owner finally arrives, flicking on the light in the living room. Jack can be found in his favourite place, slumped on the couch and swirling amber gold liquid in a low tumbler. The air is heavy, loaded with emotions and he doesn’t acknowledge Rhys as he plops down across the room on his armchair. The silence stretches mercilessly and neither of them is willing to break it.

Jack is positively buzzing with thoughts and unspoken emotions, extra energy thrumming through him and he -needs- to kill someone, break something, go somewhere and just scream his throat raw. Eventually, Rhys speaks up, same tiredness and defeat colouring his words despite futile attempts at trying to sound light and carefree.

“I don’t need pity. I’m only talking to you because I think you’re the last person to give it. Don’t disappoint me.” It doesn’t prompt any response, Jack too tangled into what he’s feeling to pay attention to what Rhys is saying.

“Come on Jack… wanna… uhh go break some more cups and plates? So we can get this out of the way and get back to how it was?”

“All I want to break is your face.” His voice is cold, deceitfully calm. Not many people got the chance to see Jack in this state of ice cold fury and lived to tell the tale. Problem is, he’s not sure who should be the recipient of this tornado of quiet rage.

“Go on.” Tempting. But this time he’ll have to pass.

“You get off of doing dumb shit kiddo?”

“Well… considering last night…” It finally sparks some reaction from him and Jack lets out a strangled, humorless chuckle.

“So… what next?”

“Up to you. I’m hoping you aren’t going to pull a one-eighty on me. Told you I wanted to get you invested into Atlas and Pandora so that when… when I’m not here you will take over after me. That’s your chance to make things -right-. No catches, no strings attached.” 

“As if, people won’t follow me willingly…”

“Wrong. You can take a man out of Hyperion but you’ll never take Hyperion out of a man. They’ll fall in line. Especially now that it’s less about you know… ‘global dominance’ and more about just ‘fixing shit’.”

He’s got no retort to that except yelling into Rhys’ face that he’d turn Atlas into second Hyperion given free reign. He would and he -will- for fucks sake. 

He’s unsure about what to say next. And Jack -hates- being unsure. All the whys and hows, they were explained in the files he has found. ‘Predicted life expectancy <35, due to: Prototype neural implants and cybernetic enhancements powered by eridium’. He doesn’t remember authorising tests on live subjects but the projects sound catchy enough that back then, the potential for profit and tech advancement must have outweighed risks. As if it ever was the other way round. And now he’s once again paying for his careless decisions. Also, there was that bit about ‘repeated head trauma’ and ‘non-standard implant removal’.

“There’s only so far a tough noggin’ can get you Jack. The docs say I’ve got about year left in me and then it’s the end of the ride for me.”

“Rhys… no.”

“Rhys yeah, duh. I’m good Jack, I really am, the implants are gonna off me while I’m still in my primes, stinking rich and exactly where I wanted to be my whole life. And with you up and running… I know… -I hope-, I’ll be leaving Atlas in good hands. Or am I wrong?”

“You’re delusional thinking leaving this to a heartless bastard like me is being right.”

“I got you a -heart- silly.” Point taken. And he falls silent again, going over and over everything.

“Why me?” Jack eventually gets up and starts pacing, too wound up to stay in one place for too long.

“Just killing two birds with one stone.” Rhys shrugs as if it was this easy.

“No… why -me-?” He knows he makes for a good choice, experience and all, sans his psychotic outbursts and megalomaniac tendencies of course. But why Rhys is going that extra mile, risking everything and trying his damndest to redeem Jack, is beyond him. In his place he would’ve probably just slapped a ticking bomb to his back and threaten him to do his bidding. 

“I… uh… Jack…” Rhys moves to get closer to the other man, grabbing him by the wrist and stopping his nervous treading. Brown and yellow eyes still avoid his but Jack cranes his neck slightly to fix his own mismatched gaze on Rhys’ pinched expression. “... remember how I told you what it means to be a hero? That it’s about being remembered as someone who did right by someone else? Jack… all I want… all I wanted since you first popped in my head… was to be such a person for you. -Your- hero.”

“I don’t need a hero dum dum. I don’t need no competition, especially from such a weakass, lousy nugget that can’t hold his ground for shit. My god, Atlas really deserves someone to whip it back into shape, so far it’s an utter trainwreck.” He can’t decide which soft spot to attack first, flouncing about in hopes of hurting Rhys because -he- is hurting and that’s unacceptable. 

“Oh shut up jackass. You do. You totally do.” And before he can protest, Rhys is pulling him closer, iron grip around his wrist, warm fingers tangled into his hair and soft lips against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally here kids. Had a good run with these jerkasses. Hope you did too, stay tuned for part two where we try to fix things and wrap up all loose ends.

**Author's Note:**

> hi kids, drop me a comment or sth we need to cooperate to get this story to the very end


End file.
